I  i 


' 


THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 
HENRY  ST.  JOHN  COOPER 


BWV.  OF  CALIF.  UWARY,  LO9 


THE    GARDEN    OF 
MEMORIES 


BY 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN  COOPER 

AUTHOR  OF  "SUNNY  DUCROW,"  "JAMES  BEVANWOOD, 
BARONET,"  ETC. 


NEW  SJPjy  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY. 


COPYRIGHT,   1921, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  OORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMERICA 


Stack 
Annex 

PR 

loos 


CONTENTS 


FACE 


CHAPTER 

I  IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS    .     .     .     .     .  17 

II  A  MARRIAGE  HAS  BEEN  ARRANGED      .    >    >  22 

III  A  DESIRABLE  FAMILY  MANSION      .....  33 

IV  How  ALLAN  CAME  TO  THE  GARDEN    ...  40 
V  IN  WHICH  ALLAN  BUYS  THE  MANOR  HOUSE  47 

VI  "I  HATE  HIM—  HATE  HIM  I  Du!"    .     .     .  54 

VII  "How  WONDERFUL  —  THE  WAY  OF  THINGS"  58 

VIII  "KATHLEEN  —  Do  You  REMEMBER?"    ...  62 

IX  How  SIR  JOSIAH  OPENED  His  PURSE    .     .     .  66 

X  CONFIDENCES   ..........  71 

XI  IN  WHICH  SIR  JOSIAH   PROVES  HIMSELF  A 

GENTLEMAN      .........  80 

XII  THE  HANDS  OF  ABRAM  LESTWICK!    ....  87 

XIII  THE  HOMECOMING    ........  94 

XIV  "His  SON'S  WIFE"     ........  109 

XV  "WILL  You  TAKE  THIS  MAN?"    ....  113 

XVI  "MY  LADY  MERCIFUL"    .....     .     .  122 

XVII  HAROLD  SCARSDALE  RETURNS    .    ...    >.    .     .  134 

XVIII  IN  THE  DAWN      .....     ....  145 

XIX  THE  DREAM  MAIDEN     .....     .     .  151 

XX  THE  ROAD  TO  HOME  WOOD                    .          .160 


2126531 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FACt 

XXI  AFTER  TEN  YEARS     ....     .    -.-    w    .  167 

XXII  MR.  COOMBE  WEARS  A  WHITE  TIB    .     ,:    .  181 

XXIII  "I  BELONG  TO  THEE" 189 

XXIV  IN  WHICH  LORD  GOWERHURST  RISES  EARLY  .  198 
XXV  BESIDE  THE  LAKE 202 

XXVI  ON  OTHER  SHOULDERS        .     ...     .     .     .     .  213 

XXVII  THE  CONQUEROR  .....    >     .     .     .     .  220 

XXVIII  THE  WATCHER 231 

XXIX  WHY  ABRAM  LESTWICK  STAYED  FROM  CHURCH  236 

XXX  THE  RELIGION  OF  SIR  JOSIAH    .....  244 

XXXI  "A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN"    ......  252 

XXXII  THE  AWAKENING      .     .    ...    >    >    >     .     .  266 

XXXIII  BY  THE  LAKE  ..........  281 

XXXIV  THE  GOING  OF  BETTY    .,    .     .     .    •..•    .:    .  292 
XXXV  "I  SHALL  RETURN."   ^    a    ^    &    &    M    i?1    v  304 


THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 


THE  GARDEN  OF 
MEMORIES 


PROLOGUE 

FROM  the  House  a  broad  white  stone  path  runs  to  the 
very  heart  of  the  garden  and  there  opens  out  into  a 
wide  circle  in  the  middle  of  which  is  set  a  sundial,  and  here 
too  are  placed  some  great  benches  of  the  same  white  stone; 
where,  when  the  heat  of  the  sun  is  not  too  great,  it  is  pleas- 
ant enough  to  sit  and  watch  the  glory  of  the  flowers. 

They  are  wealthy  folk,  the  Elmacotts,  and  they  love  their 
garden  and  pride  themselves  on  it  and  hold  that  in  all  Sus- 
sex no  soil  can  produce  finer  flowers  and  sweeter  fruit,  and 
though  in  this  year  of  grace  seventeen  hundred  and  three 
the  house,  which  is  the  Manor  House  of  the  Parish  of  Home- 
wood,  has  no  great  antiquity,  being  scarce  more  than  sixty 
years  old,  it  has  about  it  that  completeness,  those  niceties  of 
detail,  the  neatness  and  the  order  and  the  well  being  that 
are  found  only  in  the  home  which  is  ruled  by  a  house-proud 
mistress. 

And  Madame  Elmacott  is  proud  of  her  house,  proud  of  her 
garden,  proud  of  the  flowers  that  grow  in  it  and  above  all 
proud  of  her  stalwart  sons,  Master  Nat  and  Master  Dick, 
who  are  at  this  time  with  his  Grace  of  Marlborough  in 
Flanders,  fighting  their  country's  battles. 

To-day  the  sun  shines  on  the  garden  and  the  flowers' 
stir  gently,  swaying  in  the  light  breeze  that  also  lifts  the 
white  dimity  at  the  open  windows  of  the  house,  whence  comes 

9 


10        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

the  sweet  tinkling  of  a  spinet,  the  keys  of  which  are  touched 
by  the  skilled  white  fingers  of  Mistress  Phyllis  ElmacotL 

The  tall  hollyhocks  that  cast  wavering  blue  shadows  on 
the  white  stone  pathway  nod  to  one  another  in  the  breeze, 
nod,  it  seems,  knowingly,  for  from  the  pathway  one  may 
see  into  the  pleasant  room  where  the  spinet  and  its  fair 
player  are  and  seeing  these  may  also  see  the  handsome  figure 
of  the  Captain,  who  leans  upon  the  spinet,  the  better  to  see 
into  those  bright  eyes  that  have  brought  him  home  to  Eng- 
land and  Sussex  from  across  the  seas,  though  at  this  time 
in  the  service  of  his  Grace  the  Captain  General  there  is 
much  to  be  done  and  much  to  be  won. 

He  has  but  waited  to  see  and  share  in  the  victory  of 
Donauwort  and  then  has  come  hastening  home  on  the  wings 
of  love  and  with  the  merry  peal  of  marriage  bells  a-ringing 
in  his  ears. 

But  it  is  not  of  these,  not  of  the  dashing  Captain  in  his 
red  coat  and  fair-haired  Mistress  Elmacott,  who  thinks 
him  the  most  perfect  and  wonderful,  as  well  as  the 
bravest  and  handsomest  of  all  created  beings.  It  is  of  the 
garden  and  of  a  lad  who  sits  on  the  grassy  bank  at  the  edge 
of  the  lake  and  watches  with  eyes,  that  yet  seem  scarcely  to 
see,  the  slim  white  figure  of  a  maiden  wrought  of  stone. 
She  stands  up  from  the  green  waters,  in  the  centre  of  the 
lake  and  on  her  sun-kissed  shoulder  she  holds  a  pitcher,  from 
which  the  glittering  water  is  flung  aloft  into  the  air  to  fall 
with  a  pleasant  tinkling,  back  into  the  green  pool  beneath. 

And  so  silent,  so  motionless  does  he  sit  here,  that  the 
swallows  that  now  and  again  skim  the  water,  the  dragon  flies 
in  all  the  glory  of  their  green  and  crimson  and  blue  sheen  that 
dart  hither  and  thither  take  no  heed  of  him,  no  more  heed 
than  if  he  too  were  of  senseless  stone. 

In  all  the  colour,  in  all  the  glory  of  the  garden,  he  is  the 
sombre,  the  one  sombre  note.  His  clothes  are  drab,  his  shoes 
are  stout  and  thick  and  ungainly  and  clasped  with  great  brass 
buckles.  His  hands  are  the  hands  of  a  man  who  toils  for  his 


PROLOGUE  11 

living,  rough  and  hardened  by  spade  and  hoe  and  rake  and 
scythe,  and  stained  by  the  good  earth  of  the  garden.  His  eyes 
that  stare  so  unceasingly  on  that  white  stone  figure  are  blue, 
his  face  is  lean  and  tanned,  his  neck  too  is  tanned  deeply  to 
the  very  shoulders  where  the  coarse  shirt  falls  open. 

Straight  and  strong  and  courageous  he  is.  Has  he  not  lis- 
tened with  bated  breath  and  with  quick  beating  heart  to  the 
brave  stories  told  in  the  bar  parlour  of  the  "Fighting  Cocks" 
in  Stretton  Cross?  Has  he  not  watched  the  Serjeant  who 
has  told  these  thrilling  tales,  of  every  one  of  which,  who 
ehould  be  the  hero  but  the  Serjeant  himself,  in  his  fine  red 
coat  and  his  crossed  belts  and  his  tall  hat,  that  makes  him, 
fine  man  that  he  is,  seem  almost  a  gaint  ? 

He  has  done  well  here  in  Stretton  and  Homewood  and  at 
Bush  Corner  and  in  all  those  other  quiet  places,  has  the 
Serjeant.  There  are  at  least  a  score  of  fine  young  Sussex 
lads,  even  at  this  very  moment  on  their  way  to  Harwich, 
en  route  for  Flanders  and  glory,  who  have  been  wheedled 
from  field  and  wood  and  garden  and  alehouse  and  stable 
by  the  Serjeant's  persuasive  tongue,  his  jolly  laugh  and  hig 
generous  hand. 

And  Allan  Pringle,  sitting  here  by  the  green  pool,  clasping 
his  strong  brown  chin  with  his  hands,  knows  that  he  too 
would  have  been  of  that  score,  but  for  one  reason — one 
reason  that  now,  alas,  is  no  more ! 

It  is  the  first  grief  he  has  ever  known  and  it  is  a  bitter 
one,  for  what  more  bitter  sorrow  can  youth  feel  than  for 
wasted  hopes,  for  broken  faith,  for  misplaced  love  ? 

Only  Betty  and  his  love  for  her,  only  the  happiness  that 
ishe  had  promised  should  one  day  be  his,  had  deafened  him 
to  the  persuasive  eloquence  of  the  Serjeant. 

But  it  is  not  too  late  now,  others  will  hearken  to  the 
Serjeant  and  set  off  for  Harwich  and  he  will  be  among  the 
next.  Yes,  he  will  be  among  the  next  to  go,  and  pray  God 
that  he  may  never  return  I 

He  does  not  hear  a  light  step  on  the  long  stone  pathway, 


12        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

for  it  is  scarce  heavier  than  a  bird  might  make.  From  the 
house  a  little  maid  comes  hurrying.  !N\>w  she  stands  hesi- 
tatingly and  looks  about  her,  her  finger  on  her  lips,  as  one 
a  little  fearful,  a  little  anxious.  Again  and  yet  again  she 
pauses,  as  she  looks  about  her,  then  comes  to  where  beyond 
the  great  hedge  of  clipped  yew  trees  the  green  waters  of 
the  pool  reflect  the  golden  sunshine. 

And  now  she  sees  him  and  stands  watching,  a  tender  smile 
on  her  lips,  A  dainty  slip  of  a  maiden  is  she,  with  hair 
that  gleams  gold  under  her  cap,  the  soft  rounded  arms  are 
bare  to  the  dimpled  elbows,  save  for  the  thin  black  lace  mit- 
tens, through  which  her  white  skin  shines. 

Though  he,  the  silent,  solitary  figure  sitting  beside  the 
pool  is  but  ten  paces  from  her,  yet  she  hesitates,  half  a 
score  of  times,  making  a  timorous  step  and  then  pausing 
before  the  next,  her  blue  eyes  filled,  now  with  mischief  and 
love  and  now  clouded  by  some  fear.  And  then  suddenly  she 
makes  a  brave  little  run  to  him  and  drops  lightly  on  her  knees 
behind  him  and  lifts  her  hands  and  clasps  them  over  his 
eyes. 

"And  you — you  would  leave  your  Betty?  OH,  Allan, 
you.  would  leave  your  Betty  who  loves  you  and  go  away  to 
the  cruel  wars  ?"  she  sobs. 

He  has  taken  Her  hands,  Has  taken  them  strongly  in  his 
Hold  and  holding  them  yet,  he  turns  to  her.  <rWhy  did  you 
come,  why  did  you  come  to  me,  Betty  ?" 

"Because,"  and  the  blue  eyes  are  lifted  to  his  filled  with 
an  innocence  and  candour  that  even  he,  jealous  and  despairing 
though  he  is,  cannot  but  recognise,  "because  I  do  love  thee 
so  and  cannot  let  thee  go  I" 

"And  why,  loving  me,  Betty,  <lo  you  suffer  the  kisses 
of  such  a  man  aa  Timothy  Burnand,  a  rascally  tinker  and  a 
thieving  poacher,  a  man  whose  hand  I  would  not  have  touch 
thee,  Betty?" 

Into  her  face  there  flames  a  great  flush,  a  look  of  anger, 
then  it  dies  put  and  the  laughter  comes  rippling  to  her  lips 


PROLOGUE  13 

and  into  her  eyes  come  back  the  mischief  and  tEe  love  and 
a  little  pride  too,  for  she  realises  that  he  is  jealous  of  her, 
this  man  she  loves  and  though  jealousy  be  a  sin,  yet  it  is 
not  without  its  sweetness,  too,  for  say  what  the  wiseacres 
may,  jealously  is  oftentimes  a  proof  of  love. 

"And  you  saw — "  she  cries,  "Allan,  you — saw — ugh!" 
She  makes  a  little  gesture,  a  little  grimace.  "Did  you  think 
that  I  invited,  that  I  welcomed  him?  Did  you  think  that 
I  bore  his  kiss  with  patience?  Go  and  seek  him  now  and 
look  for  the  red  mark  upon  his  face!  He  came  on  me  un- 
awares and  then  all  suddenly — "  she  pauses.  "Allan,"  she 
says  pleadingly^  "Allan,  you  will  not  go,  you  will  not  go, 
my  dear,  you  will  not  go  and  leave  me?"  And  sobbing  she 
is  in  his  arms.  And  so  for  Allan  Pringle  the  sun  shines  out 
again  and  the  flowers  are  blooming  brightly  and  .the  little 
slim  maiden  of  stone  from  the  centre  of  the  pool  seems  to 
throw  the  glittering  water  higher  and  yet  higher  into  the 
air  as  though  in  joy  that  all  is  well  between  these  two,  who 
hold  one  another  so  tightly,  who  are  mingling  their  tears 
and  their  laughter  and  their  kisses,  now  that  the  cloud  has 
passed. 


There  are  no  flowers  in  the  garden  now,  for  the  garden 
of  Homewood  Manor  and  all  the  world  beside  lies  under 
a  pall  of  white,  for  the  winter  is  here,  the  winter  of  seven- 
teen hundred  and  five,  which  is  remembered  by  all  men  as 
a  winter  of  bitter  cold,  of  great  frosts  and  heavy  snows. 

In  a  tiny  cottage  that  stands  a  bare  quarter  of  a  mile 
on  the  Stretton  Road  from  the  Homewood  gates,  a  man  is 
on  his  knees  beside  a  bed. 

And  that  bed  holds  all  his  world,  all  that  the  world  can 
give  him,  all  that  makes  life  sweet,  and  his  heart  is  black 
and  bitter  with  suffering  and  despair  and  cries  out  against 
,God  that  he,  who  was  rich  only  in  her  and  in  her  love,  must 


14        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

lose  her  now,  must  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  solitary,  and 
heartbroken. 

His  eyes  are  on  the  sweet  white  face,  on  those  lips  once 
BO  red  and  now  so  pale,  hut  which  even  yet  have  a  smile  for 
him,  a  smile  of  wonderful  tenderness  and  undying  love. 
He  takes  no  heed  of  the  fretful  cry  that  comes  from  the 
cradle,  for  there  is  no  other  in  all  his  world  now,  hut  her, 
she  who  is  so  soon  to  leave  him. 

"Betty,  my  Betty,  I  cannot  let  thee  go  I  Oh,  remember, 
Betty,  once  when  I  would  have  left  thee,  you  called  me  back 
and  I  came.  I  am  calling,  calling  to  you  now,  my  life,  my 
sweet,  I  cannot  let  you  go!  Stay  with  me,  stay  with  me, 
for  you  are  all  my  life  and  the  world  is  black  without  you ; 
stay  with  me !" 

She  would  lift  her  thin  little  hand  to  caress,  to  touch  hia 
face,  but  the  strength  is  not  hers  to  do  it. 

"Allan,  take  me,  hold  me  in  your  arms,  hold  me  tightly, 
my  dear,  hold  me  tightly,"  she  says. 

And  he  puts  his  strong  arms  about  her.  God  pity  him, 
how  light  she  is,  how  small^  how  fragile  a  thing  this,  that 
death  is  taking  from  him ! 

His  very  soul  is  in  rebellion  against  fate,  he  is  mad  with 
the  suffering,  mad  with  his  impotence.  He  can  do  nothing 
save  watch  her  die,  watch  her  fade  out  of  his  life;  and  it 
must  be  soon  "A  matter  of  hours,"  the  doctor  from  Stretton 
had  said  and  that  was  long  ago  and  now,  now  it  is  but  a 
matter  of  minutes. 

"Allan,  I  wanted,  always,  to  die  like  this,  with  your  arms 
about  me,  your  dear  eyes  the  last  of  earth  that  I  shall  see — 
ah !  Allan,  it  is  now " 

"Betty,  Betty,  I  am  calling,  calling  to  you,  come  back, 
beloved,  come  back !" 

And  then  he  knows  that  it  is  useless,  she  is  leaving  him, 
slipping  away,  no  matter  how  tightly  he  may  hold  her.  It 
is  good-bye,  their  last  good-bye  and  the  sad  word  comes  per- 
haps unconsciously  to  his  lips. 


PROLOGUE  15 

And  then,  is  it  fancy?  Is  it  some  trick  of  his  tortured 
brain  ?  For  as  he  watches,  the  dear  lips  move  and  it  seems 
to  him  that  the  message  they  whisper  to  him  with  her  dying 
breath  is  this :  "It  is  not  good-bye  \" 

He  is  holding  her  against  his  breast,  he  is  kissing  those 
lips  that  for  the  first  time  give  not  back  kiss  for  kiss.  He 
is  calling  to  her  from  his  aching,  breaking  heart,  but  she 
has  passed  beyond  the  sound  of  his  voice,  though  the  smile 
on  her  dead  lips  is  still  for  him. 

And  those  last  words,  were  they  real?  Did  they  pass 
her  lips  with  her  dying  breath,  were  they  meant  for  him  in 
pity  and  compassion  and  love? 

"It  is  not  good-bye  I" 


CHAPTER  IP 

i 

Iff  THE  GAEDE3T  OF  DREAMS 

A  GIRL,  a  slip  of  a  maid  with  sunny  hair  and  wonderful 
blue  eyes,  stood  beside  a  crumbling  old  rose-red  brick 
wall.  She  looked  up  the  long  country  road  and  she  looked 
down,  it,  there  was  no  one,  not  a  soul  in  sight.  So  she  thrust 
the  toe  of  one  small  and  broken  boot  into  a  crevice  of  the 
wall,  made  a  little  spring  and  caught  at  the  top,  then  dragged 
herself  up  till  she  sat,  flushed  and  triumphant,  on  the  coping. 

She  was  a  village  girl  and  her  dress  was  of  print,  well 
washed,  well  mended,  skimpy,  too,  for  her  slight  figure, 
slender  though  it  was,  for 'it  had  been  hers  for  three  years, 
and  a  dress  that  is  originally  made  for  a  maiden  of  fourteen 
is  apt  to  be  small  when  worn  by  a  maid  of  seventeen. 

It  was  a  .demure  and  a  very  sweet  face,  the  eyes  big  and 
strangely  dreamy,  the  whit©  skin  of  her  face  and  neck 
powdered  lightly  with  tiny  golden  freckles,  her  hair  a  deep 
red  gold. 

And  wonderful  hair  it  was,  wonderfully  untidy,  too,  so 
rebellious  that  it  spurned  all  hairpins  and  fretted  and  strug- 
gled agains  ribbons  and  tapes. 

So  now,  she  sat  on  top  of  the  old  rose  red  wall  and  looked 
down  on  the  other  side  and  saw  a  green  tangle  of  brambles 
and  grass  and  other  things  that  grew  rankly  and  luxuriously 
in  that  deserted  place. 

It  was  easier  to  descend  the  wall  than  to  climb  it,  for 
here  was  a  friendly  tree  that  held  out  an  inviting  branch. 
She  seized  it  with  small  brown  hands  and  lightly  swung 
herself  to  the  ground  and  then  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
pleasure. 

17 


18        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

It  was  forbidden  ground!  Were  there  not  many  notices 
that  announced  the  fact  that  "Trespassers  Would  Be  Prose- 
cuted"? But  she  cared  nothing  for  these,  the  notice  that 
she  dreaded  most  of  all  was  "This  Desirable  Historical  Fam- 
ily Mansion,  with  Seven  Hundred  and  Fifty  Acres  of  Land, 
to  be  Sold." 

How  she  dreaded  lest  one  day  someone  should  come  and 
see  and  covet  this  place  and  buy  it  and  so  shut  her  out  for- 
ever from  its  delights  and  its  pleasures;  But  that  someone 
had  not  come  yet. 

So  she  made  her  way  through  the  tangle  of  the  growth! 
and  came  presently  to  a  great  garden,  a  wonderful  garden 
once,  but  now  a  weed-grown  place  of  desolation. 

Always  this  garden  attracted  her;  to-day  it  brought  a 
soft,  tender  light  into  her  eyes  as  she  stood  with  clasped 
hands  and  looked  at  it!  She  could  see  the  old  broken  stone- 
paved  pathway  that  led  through  the  heart  of  the  garden. 
She  knew  where  that  stone  pathway  opened  out  into  a  great 
circle  in  the  midst  of  which  was  set  a  sundial,  a  sundial  of 
stone  chipped  and  green  and  the  gnomon  of  the  dial  rusted 
away  so  that  never  again  should  its  shadow  fall  upon  the 
dial  and  mark  the  passing  of  the  brighter  hours.  And  about 
this  circle,  she  knew,  were  old  stone  seats,  green  now  like1 
the  pedestal  of  the  dial  and  through  the  crevices  of  the 
paving  grew  and  flourished  and  blossomed  foxglove  and 
dandelion,  hollyhock  and  groundsell. 

It  had  been  a  very,  very  beautiful  garden  long  years  ago, 
when  ladies  had  tapped  up  and  down  the  stone  pathway 
in  their  little  red-heeled  shoes.  Ladies  who  wore  wide 
flounced  skirts  and  powdered  hair  and  cunning  little  patches 
on  their  fair  cheeks.  The  garden  with  its  roses,  with  its 
stately  hollyhocks,  its  cloves  and  sweet-williams,  its  rose- 
mary and  lavender  and  all  the  sweet  things  that  grow  in 
English  gardens,  must  have  been  a  very  lovely  and  perfect 
place  then.  But  to  this  little  maid  with  the  dreamy  eyes, 
it  was  a  very  wonderful  place  now.  There  was  no  other 


IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS       19 

place  lite  it  in  all  the  world;  she  had  come  here  by  sun- 
shine and  by  moonlight,  for  sometimes  in  the  night  the 
garden  had  seemed  to  call  to  her  and  she  had  risen  from 
her  bed  under  the  thatched  roof  of  her  old  grandmother^ 
cottage  and  had  come  stealing  here  to  watch  it,  all  bathed 
in  the  silver  light  of  the  moon.  Perhaps  she  loved  it  best  by 
moonlight,  for  then  strange  dreams  seemed  to  come  to  Her, 
dreams  that  never  came  when  the  sun  was  shining. 

It  seemed  as  if  some  kindly  gentle  hand  touched  lightly 
on  the  chords  of  memory,  and  then — the  weeds  and  the 
{all  rank  grass,  the  decay  of  the  present,  the  rioting  growth, 
all  were  gone  and  she  saw  the  old  garden  as  it  had  once  been, 
and  she  saw  folk,  strangely  dressed  folk,  whom  never  in  her 
life  could  she  have  met.  These  came  and  went,  men  with 
strange  affected  antics  and  gestures,  gestures  she  might  have 
smiled  at,  yet  never  did,  and  sweet,  gracious  ladies  who 
moved  with  stately  dignity  through  the  old  garden. 

But  always  there  was  one,  a  young  man  whose  clothes 
were  plain  and  lacking  all  the  finery  that  made  the  others 
seem  so  grand.  She  knew  him  for  a  servant,  for  one  who 
worked  in  the  garden,  for  often  she  would  see  him  stooping 
over  some  trim  bed,  or  with  keen  scythe  sweeping  the  short 
grass. 

They  were  dreams,  only  dreams  that  the  old  garden  seemed 
to  bring  to  her,  when  she  came  when  the  world  was  sleeping. 
Dreams,  and  yet  she  seemed  to  be  so  curiously  awake. 

But  she  never  spoke  of  the  old  garden  to  the  others,  or  told 
of  the  things  that  she  saw  here.  Yet  they  knew  she  came, 
her  grandmother  rated  her,  "One  day,  my  maid,  caught 
ee'll  be,"  she  said,  "and  then  summoned  very  likely  for 
trespassing!" 

But  the  Law  had  no  terrors  for  her,  so  she  came  whenever 
the  garden  seemed  to  be  calling  to  her  and  the  high  rank 
grass;  brushed  her  thin  cotton  skirt  and  wetted  the  coarse 
stocking  that  clad  her  slim  ankle. 

For  an  hour  she  wandered  about  the  garden,  she  stood 


20        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

by  the  sundial  and  watched  the  line  of  the  pathway,  sadly 
encroached  on  now  by  the  weeds  and  the  self -seeded  flowers. 
A  tall  yew  hedge,  once  clipped  into  fantastic  shapes,  but 
now  reclaimed  by  Mature,  shut  out  what  had  once  been  the 
rose  garden,  all  weed  grown  now  and  the  roses  gone.  And 
beyond  the  rose  garden,  the  lake  in  which  the  great  carp 
swam,  lazily  and  over  which  the  birds  skimmed !  From  the 
lake's  centre  rose  a  figure  in  stone,  sadly  battered  and  marred, 
the  figure  of  a  slim  girl,  a  girl  that  might  have  been,  her- 
self, changed  into  stone. 

She  often  came  to  look  at  this  figure  rising  from  the  centre 
of  the  lake.  It  held  a  vase  poised  on  its  shoulder,  once  a 
fountain  had  been  flung  high  into  the  air  from  this  vase,  but 
the  fountain  had  been  dead  long  ago.  To-day  a  rook  sat 
perched  on  one  stone  shoulder,  but  flew  away  when  the  living 
girl  came  down  to  the  brink. 

She  had  a  feeling  for  this  stone  maiden,  all  so  lonely  in 
the  midst  of  the  desolation.  She  never  came  into  the  garden 
without  coming  to  the  edge  of  the  lake  and  nodding  her  little 
head  to  the  figure  who  never  nodded  back. 

And  so,  for  an  hour  she  wandered  about  the  garden.  She 
picked  none  of  the  flowers  that  grew  so  freely  here,  for  she 
would  not  dare  take  them  back,  mute  tale  tellers  that  they 
would  be.  So,  empty  handed  as  she  came,  she  presently  made 
her  way  back  to  the  old  wall  and  seeing  that  no  one  was 
in  sight,  gained  the  road  and  went  on  to  the  cottage  in  the 
village. 

Her  grandmother  was  leaning  over  the  gate,  an  old  woman 
with  the  face  of  a  russet  apple  that  has  been  kept  till  it  has 
wrinkled  and  meljowed. 

"So  there  you  be,  Betty  Hanson,  and  seeing  the  way 
you  hev  come  it  be  useless  and  idle  it  be,  for  me  to  ask  you 
where  hev  you  been  tu !" 

The  girl  did  not  answer. 

"You've  been  in  that  garden  again,  spite  o'  all  I  du  say. 


IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS   21 

Betty  Hanson,  it  hev  got  to  cease,  my  maid,  and  cease  it 
will  now!" 

"Why  ?"  the  girl  said  and  there  was  a  frightened  look  in 
her  eyes. 

"Why?  for  I  her  been  talking  to  Mr.  Dalabey  and  he 
du  tell  me  that  there  he  several  parties  after  the  old  house, 
and  one  rich  American  he  very  likely  to  buy  it  and  if  he 
du,  then  there  be  an  end  to  all  your  philanderings  in  that 
there  disgraceful  old  garden,  my  maid !" 

"Buy  it !  Buy  it !"  She  looked  at  her  grandmother  and 
in  the  blue  eyes  there  was  a  look  of  actual  fear.  "  'Ee  don't 
mean  as — as  anyone  be  going  to  buy — buy  it  ?"  She  whis- 
pered, "  'ee  be  only  saying  it !" 

"A  rich  American  I"  The  old  woman  nodded  her  head, 
"and  going  to  buy  it,  he  be,  and  a  dratted  good  job,  too !" 
she  added.  "Look  at  your  frock  now,  what  a  sight  it  be!" 

But  she  did  not  look  at  her  frock,  her  face  had  gone  very 
pitifully  white.  She  lifted  her  little  brown  hands  and  laid 
them  against  her  breast  and  went  into  the  cottage  with 
tragedy  and  misery  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"And  a  dratted  good  job,  too,"  the  old  woman  said  again. 


CHAPTEE  H 

A  MARRIAGE  HAS  BEEN"  ARRANGED 

MY  dear  child,  if  I  were  to  say  that  we  had  arrived 
at  our  last  shilling,  such  a  statement  would  not  be 
quite  true,  for  we  had  reached  that  unpleasant  position  some 
months  ago,  and  I  fear  that  it  is  on  other  people's  shillings 
that  we  are  existing  at  the  present  moment.  Not  only  is  our 
financial  position  unsatisfactory,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  hut, 
and  forgive  me  for  speaking  of  it,  Kathleen,  the  years  are 
passing  and  five  years  ago — well,  dear  one,  you  were  five 
years  younger  than  you  are  to-day !" 

"Father,  if  you  think  that  you  can  goad  me " 

"I  never  goad,  it  would  be  too  fatiguing !  Besides,  Kath- 
leen, as  my  daughter  and  a  Stanwys,  you  are  not  a  fool — 
the  Stanwys " 

"Oh,  please  do  not  tell  me  about  the  Stanwys,  father,"  she 
said  bitterly. 

"Would  you  rather  that  I  spoke  about  the  Homewoods? 
There  is  the  father,  Sir  Josiah " 

"Common  and  vulgar  1"  the  girl  said  with  a  note  of  con- 
tempt in  her  voice. 

"But  the  son — he  at  least  is  presentable,  have  we  not 
agreed  that  the  son  is  not  so  bad,  and  the  position " 

"I  know  of  the  position;  do  you  think  I  can  forget  it  for 
even  a  moment  ?'\ 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window  and  stared  out  into  the 
dull  London  Square. 

She  was  twenty-eight.  It  is  not  a  great  age,  yet  at  twenty- 
eight  the  first  sweet  freshness  of  youth  is  on  the  wane — a 
woman  of  twenty-eight  realises  that  she  is  no  longer  a  girl, 

22 


MARRIAGE  HAS  BEEN  ARRANGED  23 

her  girlhood  is  behind  her.  Sometimes  she  is  terribly  con- 
scious of  it.  It  is  a  little  tragedy  to  be  eight  and  twenty, 
unmarried  and  unsought.  Kathleen  Stanwys  at  twenty-eight 
was  unmarried,  nor  was  she  engaged.  Society  was  a  little 
puzzled  by  the  fact,  for  she  was  unusually  and  exceedingly 
handsome.  She  had  been  a  very  lovely  girl  and  she  was  now 
a  radiantly  beautiful  woman. 

Seven  years  ago  she  had  outshone  all  rival  beauties  in  the 
'great  world  of  Fashion,  but  she  had  made  no  bid  for  popu- 
larity. She  shrank  from  anything  of  the  nature  of  pub- 
licity and  cheap  advertisement ;  rarely  if  ever  had  her  photo- 
graph appeared  in  the  press.  She  wrapped  herself  in  a 
mantle  of  reserve.  Ever  conscious  of  the  poverty  which  she 
was  never  permitted  to  forget  she  had  earned  the  reputation 
of  being  cold  and  haughty  and  proud.  Admirers  she  had 
never  lacked,  but  suitors  had  been  few  and  shy!  Young 
men,  well  provided  with  money,  had  a  wholesome  fear  of 
Lord  Gowerhurst,  her  father,  for  he  was  a  very  finished 
specimen  of  his  type. 

Smooth  tongued,  with  a  charming  and  plausible  manner, 
cynical,  handsome  as  all  the  Stanwys  are  and  have  been,  an 
accomplished  gambler,  too  accomplished,  perhaps  his  enemies, 
and  he  had  many,  whispered.  He  was  utterly  selfish,  utterly 
pitiless.  He  had  never  been  known  to  spare  a  man  or  a 
woman  either.  Woe  to  him  or  to  her  who  fell  into  his  toils. 
With  what  fine  courtesy,  with  what  charm  of  manner  would 
he  relieve  some  luckless  victim  of  his  last  shilling!  How 
sweetly  and  sympathetically  he  would  speak  of  his  victims' 
ill  fortune,  would  suggest  some  future  "revenge,"  and  then 
pocket  his  winnings  with  a  grace  that  could  have  brought 
but  little  comfort  to  the  poor  wretch  whose  possessions  had 
passed  out  of  his  own  into  the  keeping  of  this  courtly,  d&? 
lightful,  aristocratic  gentleman. 

So,  young  men  well  endowed  with  money,  having  a  whole- 
some fear  of  His  Lordship,  avoided  his  Lordship's  beautiful 


24        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

daughter,  and  young  men  without  money  were  of  course 
not  to  be  considered  for  a  moment. 

Therefore,  at  twenty-eight,  Kathleen,  unappropriated,  and 
a  very  beautiful  woman,  stood  staring  out  of  the  window  this 
fine  May  morning,  into  the  dull  London  Square. 

My  Lord,  slender,  dressed  with  exquisite  care,  was  of  a 
tallness  and  slimness  that  permitted  his  tailor  to  do  justice 
and  honour  to  his  craft.  Few  men  could  wear  their  clothes 
with  such  perfect  grace  as  his  Lordship.  His  tailor,  long 
suffering  man,  groaned  at  the  length  of  the  unpaid  bill,  but 
realised  that  as  a  walking  advertisement  Lord  Gowerhurst 
was  an  asset  to  his  business  not  to  be  despised.  So  the 
lengthy  bill  grew  longer  and  more  formidable,  but  youngsters, 
fresh  to  town,  admiring  his  Lordship's  appearance  prodig- 
iously, made  it  their  business  to  discover  who  was  his  Lord- 
ship's tailor  and  Mr.  Darbey,  of  Dover  Street,  saw  to  it 
that  Lord  Gowerhurst  never  went  shabby  and  possibly,  cun- 
ning man,  made  those  who  could  and  would  pay,  contribute 
unconsciously  to  the  upkeep  of  Lord  Gowerhurst's  external 
appearance. 

He  came  of  a  handsome  family,  the  women  of  which  had 
been  toasts  in  many  reigns  and  through  many  generations. 
His  forehead  was  .broad  and  high,  crowned  by  silver  hair 
that  curled  crisply,  his  nose  was  of  the  type  of  the  eagle's 
beak,  his  hands  white,  well  kept,  reminiscent  of  the  eagle's 
claws,  a  moustache  of  jetty  blackness  in  admirable  contrast 
to  his  silvered  hair,  shaded  and  beneficently  concealed  a  thin- 
lipped,  hard  and  somewhat  cruel  mouth. 

My  Lord  rolled  a  cigar  between  his  delicate  fingers.  It 
was  an  excellent  cigar;  years  ago  Julius  Dix  and  Company 
had  acquired  the*  habit  of  supplying  Lord  Gowerhurst  with 
cigars  on  credit  and  bad  habits  are  difficult  to  eradicate. 
But  then  his  Lordship  sent  wealthy  customers  to  the  quiet 
but  extremely  expensive  little  shop  near  the  Haymarket. 

"Our  position,  Kathleen,  is  irksome,"  he  said  softly, 
"deucedly  irksome.  Now  and  again  I  have  little  windfalls, 


but  alas — they  grow  fewer  and  farther  between  as  time  goes 
on — at  the  moment  I  haven't  a  bob,  you,  dear,  have  not  a 
bob — "  he  paused  and  laughed  softly.  "It  recalls  the  French 
exercise  of  my  youth.  I  have  not  a  bob,  thou  hast  not  a  bob, 
he  has  not  a  bob — "  he  waved  the  cigar.  "Anyhow,  that 
is  the  position,  and  then  some  kindly  breeze  of  Heaven  wafts 
that  stout,  prosperous,  opulent  craft  the  "Sir  Josiah  Home- 
wood"  on  to  the  horizon  of  our  "sea  of  troubles,"  as  Shake- 
speare so  aptly  puts  it!" 

He  paused,  he  looked  at  the  slender,  upright,  girlish  back 
of  his  daughter. 

"So,"  he  went  on,  "this  large,  stout,  prosperous  and  richly 
freighted  cargo  boat,  'the  Sir  Josiah  Homewood,  rises  on 
the  horizon  of  our  eventful  lives  and " 

"Oh,  please,"  the  girl  said  with  a  note  of  impatience  in 
her  voice,  "leave  out  all  that ;  I  wish  to  understand  exactly — 
exactly  what  you  propose " 

"£Tot  what  I  propose,  but  what  Homewood  proposes. 
Really,  I  rather  admire  the  fellow's  presumption.  As  you 
know,  he  has  a  son,  a  lad  not  altogether  displeasing,  who 
fortunately  but  little  resembles  his  father,  a  fact  you  may 
have  noticed,  Kathleen.  Indeed,  I  might  almost  say  the 
young  fellow  is  not  without  his  good  points;  he  is  prepos- 
sessing, a  little  shy  and  silent,  in  which  he  does  not  resemble 
his  father.  He  is  well  educated,  he  has  Eton  and  Oxford 
behind  him.  By  the  way,  what  a  time  he  must  have  had  at 
Eton,  if  his  parentage  ever  leaked  out,  poor  devil — however, 
there  it  is,  the  lad  is  at  least  presentable — but  the  father 

£g » 

"Terrible!"  the  girl  said  with  a  shudder. 

"Too  true,  yet  it  is  not  proposed  you  should  marry  the 
father.  We  need  money.  You,  child,  need  money,  and 
what  is  more,  a  prospect,  a  future.  You  have  nothing  and 
the  outlook  is  not  cheering." 

"The  outlook  is  hopeless;  I  have  nothing  in  the  world, 


26        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

our  family  was  always  hopelessly  impoverished,  still  the  little 
we  once  had "  Kathleen  paused. 

"Recriminations,  my  love,  are  useless!"  his  Lordship 
said. 

"There  was  very  little  and  now  that  little  hath  taken 

unto  itself  wings  and  has  flown  away "  He  stroked  his 

long  drooping  moustache  with  his  slender  hand.  "So  it 
behoves  us  to  make  our  arrangements  for  the  future.  Sir 
Josiah  and  I  have  discussed  everything." 

"You  mean  myself,  you  have  arranged  the  deeds  of  sale, 
I  suppose,  how  much  am  I  worth?" 

"Your  value  is  inestimable.  Sir  Josiah,  worthy  Baronet, 
more  daring  than  I,  puts  it  down  in  actual  figures — "  he 
paused.  "I  made  a  note  of  them.  He  advances  me — "  He 
took  some  papers  from  his  pocket,  "the  sum  of  twelve  thou- 
sand pounds — advances,  mind  you,  Kathleen,  a  kindly  loan, 
which  I  shall,  no  doubt,  find  useful " 

"That  is  your  part  of  the  payment,"  she  said  bitterly, 
"goon!" 

"He  buys  a  fine  house,  an  estate,  he  settles  it  on  his  son; 
l>y  the  way*the  lad's  name  is  Allan." 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "go  on." 

"He  settles  a  fine  estate  on  this  Allan,  with  an  income  of 
eight  thousand  a  year,  not  so  bad,  eh  ?" 

"And  this  is  all  conditional " 

"On  your  marrying  the  said  Allan  Homewood.  I  think," 
he  said,  as  he  rose  from  his  breakfast  table,  "I  have  on  the 
whole  not  done  so  badly  for  you !" 

"And  yourself,"  she  said;  "not  so  badly!"  She  smiled 
bitterly,  then  shrugged  her  shapely  shoulders.  "Very  well, 
I  suppose  it  is  only  left  for  me  to  say  thank  you  very  mucK 
indeed!" 

"Quite  so.  The  alternative,  dear  child,  is  this" — his 
lordship  waved  his  hand — "an  elderly  unmarried  lady  re- 
siding in,  say,  a  Brighton  Boarding  House,  her  face  bearing 
some  evidence  of  a  past  but  long  since  faded  beauty,  her 


MARRIAGE  HAS  BEEN  ARRANGED     27 

title,  if  she  is  foolish  enough  to  make  use  of  it,  subjecting 
her  to  some  little  annoyance,  mingled  with  a  certain  amount 
of  servile  respect.  Not  a  pretty  picture,  my  love,  but  a  very 
true  one." 

"And  the  alternative  is  to  marry  Mr.  Allan  Homewood  ?" 

"A  pleasant  alternative,  and  its  acceptance  never  for  a 
moment  in  doubt,  eh  ?" 

"Never  for  a  moment  in  doubt,"  she  repeated. 

"Then  it  only  remains  for  me  to  say  Heaven  bless  you, 
my  child,  and  to  send  a  wire  of  acceptance  to  Sir  Josiah. 
No,  on  second  thought,  I'll  telephone  him  from  the  Club." 
He  paused  for  a  moment  to  arrange  his  necktie  before  the 
glass  over  the  mantel,  then  went  to  the  door.  At  the  door 
he  stood  and  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  went  out,  a 
satisfied  smile  on  his  thin  aristocratic  face. 

The  girl  stood  there  by  the  window  for  a  long  time.  She 
was  thinking.  She  had  much  to  think  about.  She  was 
twenty-eight  and  a  beautiful  woman  of  twenty-eight  has  no 
doubt  many  memories. 

i  Presently  she  sighed  and  turned  away  from  the  window.  A 
fine  place  and  eight  thousand  a  year  and  more  when  Josiah 
Homewood  was  laid  with  his  fathers.  Well!  things  might 
be  worse,  and  the  lad  himself,  she  liked  him.  He  was  younger 
than  she  was  by  four  years,  but  what  did  that  matter  ? 

She  had  seen  him  once  or  twice,  had  liked  him  vaguely, 
there  was  little  to  dislike  about  him.  He  was  not  handsome, 
she  was  glad  of  that,  she  hated  handsome  men,  nor  was  he 
plain.  Again  she  was  glad;  she  disliked  anything  that  was 
ugly.  He  was  also,  despite  his  parentage,  a  gentleman.  She 
liked  him  for  that  most  of  all. 

i  "If  he  had  been  vulgar  like  his  father,  three  times  the 
money  would  not  have  been  enough,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Still,  there  were  memories,  memories  that  rose  up  out  of 
the  past,  the  memory  of  a  face,  of  eager,  ardent,  worshipping 
eyes,  of  a  lame,  halting  speech,  words  disjointed  and  broken, 
eager,  pleading,  yet  hopeless  words.  "I  love  you,  oh!  I 


28       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

love  you;  don't  turn  from  me.  I  know  I  am  not  worthy, 
Kathleen,  but  I  love  you  so!" 

She  laughed  suddenly,  she  felt  ashamed  and  annoyed  to< 
realise  that  there  were  tears  on  her  lashes  and  on  her  cheeks. 

"Folly!"  she  said  aloud.  "Folly,  and  it's  all  dead  and 
gone  ten  years  ago,  ten  years — "  she  laughed,  "a  lifetime! 
He's  married  to  someone  else;  if  he's  sensible,  he  will  have 
married  someone  with  money,  for  he  had  none,  poor  fellow !" 

Meanwhile  at  the  Club,  where  the  better  part  of  his  day 
and  practically  the  whole  of  his  night  was  spent,  Lord  Gower- 
hurst  had  looked  up  a  telephone  number  and  was  putting 
a  call  through. 

"Homewood — yes,  Sir  Josiah  Homewood,  is  he  in  ?  Yes, 
I  do,  Gowerhurst — Lord  Gowerhurst — You'll  put  him 
through — then  hurry!" 

He  waited  and  then  came  a  voice.  It  was  evidently  tHe 
voice  of  a  stout  man  in  a  state  of  anxiety. 

"Yes,  it's  me,  it's  Homewood,  my  Lord " 

Lord  Gowerhurst  detected  the  anxiety,  purposely  he  de- 
layed, he  told  himself  the  man  was  anxious — naturally — 
"Let  him  be  anxious,  let  him  remain  on  tenter  hooks  for  a 
time !"  It  would  do  him  no  harm. 

"Is  that  Sir  Josiah  Homewood?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Homewood,  I'm  speaking  to  Lord  Gowerhurst, 
aren't  I?" 

"Yes — ah,  Homewood,  is  that  you?  Well,  about  that 
little  matter  we  were  discussing  yesterday — "  his  lordship 
drawled,  "the  proposition  that  you  placed  before  me  with 
such  engaging  frankness,  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you 
remember " 

"Yes,  my  Lord,  I've  not  forgotten !  Not  me !"  The  voice 
came  chokingly,  uncertain,  but  above  all  things  eager. 

"I  have  discussed  it  with  the  person — most  concerned!" 

"And  what  does  her  ladyship " 

"My  dear  Homewood,  no  names  on  the  telephone,  njgf 
names  I  beg!" 


MARRIAGE  HAS  BEEN  ARRANGED     29 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,  my  mistake,  my  Lord.  I  wouldn't 
think  of  mentioning  any  names,  not  for  a  moment,  my  Lord. 
Still  what  does  she — the  person — the  party,  I  mean,  my 
Lord,  what  does  she — er — her " 

"I  quite  understand  the — as  you  say — party — is  inclined 
to  give  very  favourable  consideration  to  the  matter.  In 
fact,  I  may  say,  my  dear  Homewood,  that  the  matter  is 
practically  settled  on  the  basis  you  suggested." 

Sir  Josiah  Homewood  in  his  luxurious  City  office,  closed 
his  eyes  as  in  ecstasy!  He  clung  to  the  telephone  receiver 
and  an  expression  of  rapt  and  perfect  contentment  stole 
over  his  features. 

"Then — then  it's  all  right.  I  may  regard  it  as  all  right, 
my — my — Lord — she,  the  party,  I  mean " 

"Agrees — "  said  Lord  Gowerhurst  shortly.  "Briefly,  yes 
she  agrees — the  matter  is  settled  and  now  it  only  remains 
to  complete  the  contract,  you  understand,  eh  ?" 

"I  understand,  ha,  ha,  very  good,  just  so,  the  Contract, 
always  dealing  with  contracts  I  am,  but  not  many  like  this ! 
Ha,  ha,  splendid — and  now  your  Lordship  and  the  other 
party,  I  mean  the  other  contracting  party,  will  dine  at  my 
house  in  Grosvenor  Square  to-night." 

Gowerhurst  frowned.  "Oh,  very  well!"  he  said  ungra- 
ciously. 

"Half  past  seven  at  Grosvenor  Square,  your  Lordship  re- 
members the  number?" 

"At  half  past  seven,  then!"  His  Lordship  said  and  hung 
up  the  receiver. 

"And  that,"  my  Lord  said,  "is  that!  When  my  time 
comes,  and  I  am  in  no  hurry  for  it  to  come,  especially  just 
now,  I  shall  be  able  to  close  my  eyes  on  this  world,  knowing 
that  I  have  done  my  duty  to  my  only  child,  a  truly  com- 
forting reflection —  And  now  for  a  brandy  with  the  merest 
suggestion  of  soda,  and  if  possible  a  little  game  of  billiards." 
And  he  went  up  the  Club's  handsome  staircase. 

None  of  the  multitudinous  clerks  in  the  large  and  palatial 


30        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

offices  of  Sir  Josiah  Homewood,  Son  and  Company,  Limited, 
had  ever  seen  the  Managing  Director  in  such  a  delightful 
temper,  for  sometimes  his  temper  was  not  delightful  .  This 
morning  he  beamed  on  all  and  sundry.  Young  Alfred  Cope, 
who  supported  a  widowed  Mother  on  an  insignificant  salary, 
had  long  been  trying  to  muster  up  courage  to  ask  for  a  rise. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  this  morning,  this  bright  May  morn- 
ing, the  opportunity  had  come,  and  so  opportunity  sent  him, 
a  shivering,  trembling  wretch,  tapping  nervously  on  the 
highly  polished  mahogany  door  of  Sir  Josiah's  private  office. 

"Well  ?"  Sir  Josiah  said.    "Well,  and  what  do  you  want  V9 

Alfred  stumbled  lamely  into  his  pitiful  story. 

Sir  Josiah  frowned.  "How  much  are  you  getting  paid 
now?"  he/ demanded. 

"Forty-two.  Forty-two  shillings  a  week !  Bless  my  heart 
and  soul,  princely,  princely!  Why,  when  I  was  a  lad  such 
a  wage  would  have  been  considered  handsome,  sir,  and  here 
you  come  asking  me  for  more — Why ;  bless  me,  let  me  tell  you 
this,  Cope — the  City  is  bristling  with  clerks,  bristling  with 
'em,  you  can't  move  for  clerks,  sir,  and  most  of  'em  out  of 
work !  I've  only  got  to  hold  up  my  finger,  sir,  like  this — " 
He  thrust  a  broad,  stumpy  finger  into  the  air,  "and  say 
'Clerk !'  and  a  hundred  would  rush  at  me.  I'd  be  suffocated ! 
Do  you  understand  me,  Cope?  Simply  crushed  to  death 
by  the  rush!  If  I  put  an  advertisement  in  the  papers,  I'd 
have  to  hire  a  policeman  to  keep  the  Quee — the  Queek — 
what  d'ye  call  the  thing  from  obstructing  the  traific — Forty- 
two  shillings,  you  ought  to  go  down  on  your  knees,  sir, 
on  your  knees  and  thank  Heaven  that  you  are  earning  such 
a  salary !  Princely !  That's  what  it  is,  princely !" 

And  so  on,  for  ten  long,  fear  laden,  wretched  minutes,  at 
the  end  of  which  the  hapless  wretch  slunk  away,  thanking 
God  that  he  had  not  been  dismissed  or  that  his  wretched  two 
and  forty  shillings  had  not  been  reduced  to  thirty  or  less. 

"Forty-two  shillings — and  wants  more,"  Sir  Josiah  said 
to  himself,  "bless  me,  what  are  things  coming  to?"  Then 


MARRIAGE  HAS  BEEN  ARRANGED    31 

he  banished  the  frown,  he  beamed  all  over  his  round  red 
face. 

"Lady  Kathleen  Homewood,"  he  said  to  himself,  "Lady 
Kathleen  Homewood,  my  daughter-in-law !  Lady  Kathleen — 
ah  ha!"  He  rubbed  his  hands.  "That'll  make  Cutler  sit 
up!  The  fellow  gives  himself  airs  because  his  daughter 
married  a  fellow  who  is  Governor  of  some  place  no  one  in 
their  senses  ever  heard  of — His  Excellency  the  Governor — 
Bless  my  heart !  I'm  sick  to  death  of  His  Excellency !  Now 
Cutler  will  turn  green,  eh?  There's  nothing  like  the  real 
thing,  the  real  old  true  blue-blooded  British  aristocracy — 
can't  get  over  that,  eh?  No,  no  fear!" 

Usually  it  takes  but  two  to  make  a  bargain;  in  this  case 
it  required  four.  Three  of  the  four  were  agreed,  himself 
first  of  all,  now  His  Lordship,  the  Earl  of  Gowerhurst,  and 
Lady  Kathleen  Stanwys,  his  daughter.  There  was  but  one 
other,  but  that  one  other  was  a  good  boy,  a  dutiful  son;  he 
would  do  exactly  what  his  father  wished. 

"Thank  God  I  don't  look  for  opposition  from  him!"  Sir 
Josiah  thought.  "Never  trod  a  better  lad  than  mine,  bless 
him!  He  knows  my  heart's  set  on  this,  knows  it  he  does, 
and  he'll  do  it  to  please  me !  He's  not  like  other  young  fel- 
lows with  their  fancy  tricks.  Besides  that,  the  girl's  a 
beauty,  apart  from  her  blood  and  breeding !  If  she  is  a  little 
older  than  he,  well,  what  of  that?  It's  the  blood,  the  birth 
that  is,  what  tells  every  time  and  by  George — by  George, 
when  I  have  grandchildren  I'll  be  able  to  look  at  'em  and 
say  to  myself — 'These  grandchildren  of  mine  are  also  the 
grandchildren  of  an  Earl!'  And  that's  something  these 
days,  eh?  That's  something!"  So  he  fell  to  muttering  and 
chuckling  to  himself,  this  highly  pleased  old  gentleman,  and 
presently  he  picked  up  a  pen  and  all  unconsciously  scribbled 
many  times  on  the  blotting  paper: 

"Lady  Kathleen  Homewood,  Lady  Kathleen  Homewood, 
my  daughter-in-law,  Lady  Kath " 

"Eh,  what's  that?" 


32       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"I  thought  I'd  remind  you  that  it  is  past  one,  Sir  Josiah, 
and  you  were  to  lunch  with  Mr.  Cutler  and  Mr. " 

"Oh,  bless  my  soul,  yes,  I'd  clean  forgotten — many  thanks 
— Jarvis — quite  right,  sensible  of  you !" 

Mr.  Jarvis,  the  head  clerk,  bowed  and  would  have  retired. 

"Oh,  Jarvis,  one  moment,  here,  help  me  into  my  coat, 
there's  a  good  feller!  That  young  feller,  young  what's  his 
name — Cope — Grope — eh  ?" 

"Cope,  sir,  yes,  sir!" 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  is  he,  good  worker  and  all  that?" 

"A  very  attentive  worker  and  a  respectable  young  man !" 

"Supports  a  widowed  mother,  I  understand  I" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Bless  me,  well,  well.  I've  been  having  a  chat  with  him — 
where's  my  umbrella? — having  a  chat  with  him — a  man 
can't  support  a  widowed  mother  cheaply  these  days,  eh, 
Jarvis  ?" 

"Very  expensive  days,  sir!" 

"Quite  so,  expensive  hobby,  too,  supporting  widowed 
mothers.  Raise  his  salary  to — say  Three  pound  ten,  Jarvis, 
and  report  to  me  how  he  goes  on !  My  hat,  do  you  see  my 
hat?  Oh,  thanks,  I'll  be  back  at  two-thirty,  Jarvis " 

And  Sir  Josiah  went  out. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   DESIRABLE    FAMILY    MANSION" 

DEAR  SIR, 
"In  reply  to  your  advertisement  in  the  Daily  Tele- 
graph, I  am  at  the  moment  in  a  position  to  offer  you  a  very 
fine  old  historical  mansion  situated  in  West  Sussex  on  the 
Hampshire  border.  The  house  has  been  untenanted  for  a 
number  of  years  and  will  require  considerable  attention.  In 
the  hands  of  a  man  of  wealth  and  taste,  it  could  be  restored  to 
its  original  condition  and  would  form  one  of  the  most  pic- 
turesque and  desirable  mansions  in  the  Country.  It  is 
eminently  a  place  that  it  is  necessary  to  see  and  a  description 
of  it  would  take  too  much  time  now,  for  as  I  have  previously 
mentioned,  I  am  only,  at  the  moment,  in  a  position  to  offer 
it  as  it  has  already  been  seen  and  highly  approved  by  a 
wealthy  American  gentleman  and  it  is  quite  probable  that 
he  will  close  at  the  bargain  price  at  which  the  house  and 
estate  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  acres,  including  part  of  a 
small  and  picturesque  village,  is  being  offered.  I  would 
urge  on  you,  therefore,  if  you  care  to  consider  the  place,  to 
view  it  without  one  moment's  delay,  as  obviously  it  will  be 
sold  to  the  first  who  makes  a  good  offer.  I  may  add  that 
the  Mansion  in  question,  with  its  many  historical  associa- 
tions, would  make  a  country  seat  fit  for  any  nobleman  in 
the  land.  May  I  finally  repeat  my  urgent  advice  to  view  the 
place  at  once,  as  the  delay  of  even  an  hour  may  be  preju- 
dicial to  your  obtaining  it.  Believe  me,  sir, 

Yours  truly, 

DALABEY  AND  SON." 
33 


34        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

Over  this  letter  Sir  Josiah  pondered  a  little  and  frowned 
a  little. 

"It's  rather  like  having  a  pistol  at  one's  head!  Hanged 
if  it  isn't !"  he  muttered.  "But  it  reads  all  right,  it  reads — 
the  goods!  Historical  Mansion,  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
acres,  fit  for  a  nobleman,  with  part  of  a  village,  sounds 
right — sounds  right — "  he  muttered.  He  nodded  his  head. 
"But  this  hurry — why  it's  a  confounded  nuisance,  that's 
what  it  is.  How  can  I  go?  I've  got — let  me  see — har 
hum — "  He  muttered  to  himself  and  frowned  heavily. 

He  had  much  important  business  to  see  to,  that  day,  a 
meeting  of  Directors  at  twelve,  another  at  two,  and  there 
were  things  to  be  arranged  and  discussed  that  Sir  Josiah 
knew  would  require  his  clear  brain  and  intellect.  How 
could  he  go  journeying  down  to  some  remote  part  of  Sussex 
to  view  this  ancient  mansion  with  its  historical  associations, 
desirable  as  it  might  be  ? 

Sir  Josiah  looked  up  from  the  letter  and  glanced  across 
the  breakfast  table  at  his  son. 

Allan  was  reading.  It  would  have  been  noteworthy  had 
Allan  not  been  reading.  The  lad  was  always  reading.  His 
book  was  propped  up  against  a  teacup  and  he  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  his  breakfast. 

A  good  looking,  big  and  broad  shouldered  young  fellow 
this,  with  clean  cut  features  and  massive  jaw  and  a  broad 
high  forehead!  Muscle  and  sinew  were  there,  but  there 
was  intelligence  and  brain  power  in  that  noble  forehead  of 
his. 

Fully  six  feet  stood  he  in  his  socks,  massive  of  build,  with 
straight,  honest  blue  eyes  and  waving  hair  that  was  neither 
dark  nor  fair.*  A  face  that  might  in  its  strength  seem  a 
little  hard,  a  little  fierce,  even  a  little  forbidding,  but  that 
the  mouth  atoned  for  all. 

!NTo  man  with  a  mouth  like  this  could  be  other  than  very 
human,  very  tender  and  kindly,  very  generous,  the  mouth 
of  a  man  who  could  give  much,  suffer  much  and  love  greatly. 


A  DESIRABLE  FAMILY  MANSION     35 

But  Sir  Josiah  saw  nothing  of  all  this,  he  only  saw  Allan, 
his  son,  reading  another  of  those  confounded  books,  for 
which  Sir  Josiah  had  no  feeling,  except  of  the  deepest 
disgust. 

"Allan!" 

"Father?"  The  young  man  looked  up.  "I'm  sorry!" 
he  said.  "Did  you  speak  to  me  before?" 

"No,  I  didn't,  and  breakfast  ain't  the  time,  Allan,  to  be 
stuffing  your  head  with  all  that  there  nonsense !" 

Allan  smiled.  "You  had  your  letters,  and  as  I  had  my 
book " 

"You  always  have  your  book !  I  never  saw  such  a  fellow 
for  reading — but  I'm  not  saying  anything,  my  boy.  No,  no, 
you're  a  good  lad.  Few  sons  please  their  old  fathers  as  you 
do  me — we're  not  quarrelling,  Allan  lad !" 

"We  never  have  yet,  father,  and  we  never  will,  I  think !" 

"I  know!"  said  Sir  Josiah.  "Ah,  Allan,  you're  doing 
well,  a  fine  woman,  beautiful  as  a  picture,  tall  and  stately, 
and  the  daughter  of  an  Earl.  Why,  boy,  you  ought  to  be 
in  the  Seventh  Heaven  of  delight  and  instead  you  sit  there 
with  your  nose  in  a  book !" 

"She  is  a  fine  and  a  beautiful  and  I  believe  a  good  woman," 
said  Allan,  "but  her  father — "  he  paused.  "I  could  have 
wished  her  a  better  father!" 

"An  Earl,  an  Earl !"  cried  the  old  man.  "A  better  father 
than  an  Earl !  Bless  me,  Allan — what  nonsense !  However, 
you're  marrying  her  not  her  father;  it's  all  settled,  all 
agreed — "  He  rubbed  his  hands,  his  round  red  face  shone 
with  benevolence  and  joy.  "You're  a  sensible  and  dutiful 
fellow,  Allan!  You  say  to  yourself,  'My  old  father  wishes 
it — The  girl  is  good  and  beautiful  and  well  born,  I  don't 
know  particularly  that  I  love  her — come  to  that  perhaps  I 
don't,  but  I  .might  go  farther  and  fare  worse!'  Eh,  that's 
it,  isn't  it  ?  And  you're  doing  it,  boy,  because  you  know  it 
will  give  pleasure  to  the  old  man!" 


36       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"I  think  you  have  got  my  reasoning  very  correctly, 
father!"  Allan  said. 

"There's  no  one  else  ?"  Sir  Josiah  said. 

"No  one  else,  no — and  I  like  Lady  Kathleen.  I  admire 
her  and  I  pity  her " 

"Pity — pity — hless  my  soul,  hoy,  pity.  Why  should  you 
pity  her  ?  Isn't  she  well  born,  doesn't  she  move  in  the  best, 
the  very  best  society?  Isn't  she  the  only  daughter,  only 
child  come  to  that,  of  an  Earl  ?  Pity  her  ?" 

"Just  that,  I  pity  her,  I  am  deeply  sorry  for  her.  I  think 
she  suffers  a  good  deal  and  can't  you  understand  why?" 

"I — I  don't  know,  lad,  how  should  I  know  what  the  feel- 
ings of  a  young  Society  lady  are  ?" 

"She  is  proud  and  she  is  poor,  there's  suffering  in  that — 
She  is  proud  and  she  knows  that  her  father's  name  is  in 
bad  odour.  Do  you  think  a  sensitive,  highly  strung  girl  as 
she  is  doesn't  feel  a  thing  like  that?  Yes,  I  pity  her,  and 
if  through  me  her  life  may  be  made  a  little  happier,  why 
not?  Last  night  when  you  and  her  father  were  talking 
money — she  and  I  had  much  to  say  to  one  another.  She 
was  very  open  and  very  frank  to  me  and  I  to  her.  We 
made  no  pretence — we  know  that  we  do  not  love  one  another. 
She  is  desperately  poor  and  she  is  marrying  me  chiefly — 
entirely  for  the  ihoney  you  are  going  to  give  us  both.  I 
know  that  you  are  lending  Lord  Gowerhurst  money,  that 
he  has  not  the  slightest  intention  of  every  repaying  you — 
Oh,  Kathleen  and  I  have  been  perfectly  open  and  frank  with 
one  another — I  understand  that  she  cares  for  no  one  else. 
She  has  the  same  assurances  from  me,  so  there — "  Allan 
laughed  sharply,  "you  have  it,  the  usual  thing,  a  marriage 
of  convenience !  %  How  can  I  pretend  that  I  like  it,  Father, 
when  I  do  not  ?  You — you  know  that  I  would  sooner  not — 
but  it  is  arranged,  it  is  agreed — I  do  not  love  her,  but  thank 
God  I  can  and  do  respect  her  and  I  feel  sorry  for  her — and 
so  we  shall  go  through  with  it,  Father!"  he  concluded. 

Josiah  nodded.     "Yes,  boy,  you  will  go  through  with  it 


A  DESIRABLE  FAMILY  MANSION    37 

and  one  day  you'll  thank  me  that  I  brought  it  about.  I 
know  a  good  woman  when  I  see  one  and  I  tell  you  she  is 
that — good — good  to  the  core — I'm  not  clever  and  not  over 
well  educated,  Allan,  like  you  are.  I  don't  set  up  to  be  a 
gentleman,  but  there's  one  thing  I  can  do,  I  can  sum  up 
my  fellow  men  and  women,  too,  come  to  that.  You'll  find 
Allan,  I'm  making  no  mistake  when  I  say  Lady  Kathleen 
is  as  fine  and  as  true  a  woman  as  ever  stepped.  You'll  go 
through  with  this  marriage,  Allan,  I  count  on  you !" 

"I've  never  failed  you  yet,  Father." 

"You  never  have,  never,  jand  never  will !"  A  look  of  rare 
tenderness  came  into  the  commonplace,  even  vulgar  face.  He 
rose  and  went  to  his  son  and  put  a  large  trembling  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

"ISTo  Allan,  you've  never  failed  me,  not  even  when  you 
were  a  little  chap !  Do  you  think  I  don't  think  of  it  ?  Do 
you  think  I  don't  thank  God  for  it,  do  you  think  when  I 
hear  other  men  speaking  of  their  sons  and  of — of  the  trouble 
some  of  'em  bring?  Do  you  think  I  don't  say  to  myself — 
'My  boy's  above  that  kind  of  thing,  my  boy's  an  honest  man 
and  a  gentleman !'  "  He  gripped  the  shoulder  under  his  hand 
tightly. 

"And  now  read  that,  read  this  letter "  he  went  on  in  a 

changed  voice.  "Read  it,  Allan!" 

Allan  took  the  letter  and  read  it. 

"Well,  father?" 

"It  looks  like  being  just  the  kind  of  place  I'm  after!" 

"There  are  bound  to  be  hundreds  of  others — hundreds!" 

"That's  just  what  there  aren't.  You  know  how  I've  ad- 
vertised, you  know  how  many  places  I've  seen,  twenty  at 
least,  and  I  wouldn't  be  found  dead  in  any  one  of  'em.  No ! 
places  like  I  want  aren't  to  be  found  every  day,  and  I've 
got  an  idea  this  might  be  the  place.  Besides  that,  these 
agents  write,  it's  to  be  bought  cheaply.  I'm  never  above 
making  a  bargain,  Allan.  It's  in  pretty  bad  condition  evi- 
dently and  I  daresay  it'll  cost  some  money  to  put  right,  but 


38       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

what's  that  matter  if  I  get  it  off  the  purchase  price?  ITow 
to-day  I  can't  go  and  you  see  that  this  agent  writes  to  say  it's 
urgent.  There's  an  American  out  for  it  and  I  don't  like  to 
be  beat,  Allan,  and  especially  I  don't  like  to  be  beat  by  an 
American.  They  are  keen  buyers  and  clever  buyers  and 
what  I  say  is  this — if  this  place  is  good  enough  for  a  rich 
American — why  it  might  also  be  good  enough  for  me!" 

Allan  nodded.  "And  you  will  go  and  see  this  place 
and " 

"That's  just  what  I  can't  do,  I've  got  two  Company 
meetings  and  important  ones  they  are,  and  I  can't  miss  'em. 
Time's  short,  it's  a  bit  like  having  a  pistol  pointed  at  one's 
head;  but  there  you  are,  you  can't  help  it  and  so  my  boy 
you've  just  got  to  put  that  book  of  poems,  or  whatever  it  is, 
away  and  forget  it  for  to-day — you've  got  to  go  down — 

to "  he  paused  and  looked  at  the  letter,  "this  place,  this 

Little  Stretton,  Little  Stretton "  he  repeated.  "I  seem 

to  know  the  name,  been  there  before  perhaps — motoring  or 
something,  however  you'll  have  to  go  there  to-day  instead 
of — me!  You're  not  a  fool,  Allan,  you've  got  eyes  in  your 
head — After  all,  the  place  is  to  be  for  you  when  you  are  mar- 
ried to  her  Ladyship,  and  it's  right  you  should  be  the  one 
to  see  it,  so  go  down  there,  boy,  see  the  place,  size  it  up  and 
find  out  the  price.  Use  your  own  judgment  because  you've 
got  it  to  use.  I'll  leave  it  in  your  hands.  I'll  make  out  a 
cheque  for  five  hundred  and  sign  it  and  you  can  leave  it 
as  deposit  if  you  decide  to  buy.  Only  make  up  your  mind, 
don't  beat  about  the  bush,  remember  we're  not  the  only  ones 
— and  if  it's  the  right  place  I  don't  want  to  lose  it!" 

"But  father — had  you  not  better  see  it  yourself,  surely 
to-morrow f' 

"To-morrow  won't  do— it  must  be  done  to-day — I  know, 
worse  luck,  you're  not  a  good  hand  at  making  a  bargain, 
but  I've  got  to  make  the  best  of  that !  Do  your  best,  if  you 
like  the  place,  if  you  think  it's  cheap,  if  there  are  possibili- 
ties in  it — why,  Allan,  boy,  snap  it  up — don't  let  anyone  get 


'A  DESIRABLE  FAMILY  MANSION    39 

ahead  of  you !  Here's  the  cheque."  Sir  Josiah  tore  a  cheque 
out  and  made  it  out  for  five  hundred  pounds  and  signed  it 
"Josiah  Homewood." 

"And  now  you'd  better  look  out  a  train  to  this  place,  this 

Little  Stretton "  again  he  seemed  to  linger  over  the 

name.  "Unless,  of  course,"  he  added,  "you'll  go  by  the 
car?" 

"I'll  go  by  train "  Allan  said.  In  the  train  he  could 

read  his  beloved  books.  The  car  allowed  no  such  relaxa- 
tion. "I'll  go  by  train!"  he  said. 


CHAPTEE  IV 

HOW    AT.T.ATST    CAME    TO    THE    GAEDEIT 

FOR  May  it  was  a  very  hot  day,  almost  an  unnaturally 
hot  day.    It  was  a  day  that  might  well  have  belonged 
to  August. 

Allan  stepped  it  from  the  station,  a  sign  post  told  him 
that  Little  Stretton  was  yet  a  mile  to  go.  He  took  off  his 
hat  and  henceforth  carried  it  in  his  hand.  He  had  read 
his  hook  all  the  way  down  in  the  train  and  his  mind  was 
still  lingering  on  it,  on  the  hook  rather  than  on  realities. 
So  when  he  came  to  where  stood  an  old,  a  very,  very  ancient 
oak,  the  mere  relic  of  a  once  noble  tree,  he  looked  at  it 
vaguely,  and  then  looked  beyond  for  the  little  red  tiled  barn 
that  some  fancy  told  him  would  be  there.  And  it  was  there, 
but  it  was  a  very  old  barn  and  the  roof  had  fallen  in,  in 
places  and  lichen  was  growing  on  the  broken  tiles. 

Allan  stared  at  it,  he  felt  faintly  surprised. 

"Strange!"  he  said  aloud.    "Strange — why " 

He  had  an  idea  that  the  barn  was  not  so  old,  why  it  ought 
to  have  been  almost  a  new  barn,  had  he  not  seen 

"Good  Heavens!"  he  said  aloud.     "I  must  be  dreaming 

or   something "      Then   he   walked   on    rapidly.      He 

breasted  a  hill  and  descended  on  the  far  side,  following  the 
twisting,  turning  road  between  the  hedgerows  all  sweet  with 
May  flowers,  and  so  came  at  last  to  a  little  village  of  red 
houses  roofed  with  slabs  of  old  Sussex  stone,  all  green  and 
yellow  with  lichen,  yellow  mostly. 

Allan  stood  still  and  looked  at  the  village  that  lay  almost 
at  his  feet. 

-  "I  suppose,"  he  said  slowly.     "I  suppose  we  must  have 
motored  through  here  once!" 

40 


ALLAN  CAME  TO  THE  GARDEN  41 

He  seemed  to  know  it  all  so  well,  tlie  sleepy  sloping 
street  with  the  quaintly  irregular  houses,  the  little  shops 
with  curved  bow  windows  thrusting  out  on  to  the  pavement, 
and  the  low  pitched  doorways  one  gained  by  climbing  per- 
haps three  or  more  worn  stone  steps.  The  Inn,  the  sign 
of  which  swung  from  a  beam  that  spanned  the  street.  Yes 
surely  he  had  seen  it  all  before — on  some  motoring  trip  per- 
haps— and  yet — and  yet  in  a  way  it  was  strangely  different, 
as  the  barn  had  differed  from  his  expectations.  For  a  time 
with  a  queer  puzzled  sensation,  he  stood,  and  then  he  came 
back  to  realities.  He  had  journeyed  here  to  see  some 
house  agent — what  was  his  name  ? 

Dalabey !  yes  Dalabey ! 

"Boy,"  he  called  to  a  dusty  white  haired  urchin  playing 
with  a  dog.  "Boy,  which  is  Mr.  Dalabey's,  the  house 
agent  ?" 

The  boy  pointed.  "That  be  Dalabey's  up  they  steps  be 
Dalabey's  shop." 

So  Allan  went  up  the  steps  and  found  himself  in  the  office 
of  Dalabey  and  Son. 

Mr.  Dalabey,  a  stout,  red  haired  man,  wearing  no  coat, 
was  talking  with  a  visitor,  he  looked  at  Allan. 

"My  father  had  a  letter  about  a  house,  an  old  house,  he 
asked  me " 

"Ah  yes,  to  be  sure,  the  house  as  Mr.  Van  !N"orden  be 
after,  well  there  be  nothing  settled  as  yet,  sir,"  Mr.  Dala- 
bey said  as  he  reached  up  for  a  huge  key. 

"I'll  be  ten  minutes  about,"  he  said,  "if  you'll  wait  here 
while  I  get  finished  with  this  gentleman !" 

"Couldn't  I  go  on?     If  you  direct  me  I  might  find  it," 

"Aye,  and  I'll  follow.  Well  you  can't  make  any  mis- 
take, 'tis  just  beyond  the  village,  you'll  see  a  high  red  wall, 
a  very  old  wall  it  be,  follow  the  wall  for  maybe  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  then  you  will  come  to  the  gates,  well  this  key  don't 
fit  the  gates,  you'll  hev  to  go  a  bit  further  till  you  come  to  a 
green  door.  This  key  is  the  key  of  the  door,  if  you'll  go  on. 


42       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

I'll  get  my  bicycle  and  follow  you  and  maybe  I'll  catcH 
you  up  before  you  get  there." 

"Thanks!"  Allan  said,  he  took  the  key,  a  ponderous 
thing  and  smiled  at  it  for  its  bigness  and  clumsiness. 

Children  in  the  roadway  stared  at  the  young  man  swing- 
ing the  ponderous  key  in  his  hand,  women  standing  in  their 
doorways  nodded  to  one  another. 

They  knew  the  key.  "Very  like  he  be  the  rich  Ameri- 
can who  be  coming  to  buy  the  Manor,"  they  said. 

Allan  walked  on.  Yes,  certainly  they  must  have  motored 
through  this  village,  he  remembered  it  vaguely,  and  yet  it 
seemed  to  him  always  a  little  changed.  Now  was  there  not, 
should  there  not  be  a  Cross  standing  here  where  the  road 
widened,  in  front  of  the  Inn. 

He  paused  and  stared  about  him.  There  was  no  Cross, 
no  suggestion  of  one. 

An  old  man,  typically  Sussex,  grey  bearded  and  bent 
double  by  age,  clad  in  a  smock  and  an  ancient  tall  hat,  stared 
at  him  with  rheumy  eyes. 

"Grandfather,"  said  Allan,  "wasn't  there  a  cross  here 
once  ?" 

"Aye,  a  cross  there  were  and  a  very  fine  cross  it  was 
tu,"  said  the  old  man.  "I  du  remember  her,  when  I  were  a 
lad,  seventy  years  ago;  I  du  remember  that  Cross,  seventy 
years  ago  knocked  down  her  were  in  broad  daylight,  her 
•were  and  I  see  it  done,  I  did  wi'  my  two  eyes,  see  it  done, 
I  did !"  He  nodded  his  hoary  head.  "  'Twere  this  a  way, 
the  doing  of  it.  Village  Street  be  wunnerful  steep  it  be, 
they  was  bringing  up  two  great  el'ums  on  a  lurry,  three 
Btrappin'  bosses  they  were  a-pulling  of  the  lurry  up  the 
hill,  then  downfall  on  a  sudden  goes  one  o'  the  hosses,  and 
down  goes  another.  T'other  hoss  rares  up  her  did  and  crack 
goes  the  chain,  lurry  wi'  they  two  great  el'ums  goes  running 
back'ard  down  the  hill  it  did.  I  say  it,  as  seen  it  done 
seventy  years  ago,  seventy  and  one  to  be  parfectly  correct, 
and  bash  goes  they  el'um  trunks  into  the  Cross.  Bash  goes 


ALLAN  CAME  TO  THE  GARDEN  43 

the  Cross,  down  it  falls  in  little  pieces.  I  picked  up  a 
piece,  I  du  remember,  the  bit  I've  got  to  this  day,  it  stands 
on  the  chimbley  shelf,  it  du.  Seventy  and  one  years  ago, 
and  me  a  lad  of  turned  twelve  a  fine  strapping  lad  tu." 

Allan  slipped  a  coin  into  the  old  man's  willing  palm. 

Strange  he  should  have  thought  that  a  Cross  stood  there. 
And  yet,  why  strange?  He  had  seen  some  other  village 
street  like  this  one,  with  a  Cross  set  up  in  it.  One  often 
saw  Crosses  set  up  in  old  world  villages. 

So  he  went  on,  swinging  the  great  key  in  his  hand  and 
presently  he  came  to  the  end  of  the  village,  where  was  the 
beginning  of  the  old  brick  wall,  a  very  high  brick  wall  it 
was,  fully  ten  feet,  and  the  bricks  were  of  that  rare  rose 
tint,  the  like  of  which  have  never  been  made  since  Anne 
was  Queen,  but  these  seemed  to  go  back  far  before  the  time 
of  Anne  and  here  and  there  the  wall  was  somewhat  broken. 
But  nature  had  done  her  best  to  make  good  the  gaps,  filling 
them  up  with  lichen  and  moss  of  brilliant  green  and  vivid 
yellow,  a  feast  of ''colour  for  eyes  tired  of  London's  sombre 
streets. 

And  he  knew,  because  Mr.  Dalabey  had  told  him,  that  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  on,  he  would  come  to  the  gates,  wide 
gates  of  iron  hung  on  stone  pillars  and  on  each  stone  pillar 
was  set  the  head  of  a  deer,  also  carved  in  stone. 

And  presently  he  came  to  the  gates,  and  the  pillars  stood 
all  moss  covered,  surmounted,  as  he  knew  they  would  be, 
by  the  sculptured  heads  of  deer ;  but  one  had  lost  its  antlers, 
and  the  other  had  its  muzzle  broken  short  off. 

Allan  looked  up  at  them  and  smiled,  and  then  his  smile 
vanished.  Mr.  Dalabey  had  not  told  him  of  the  deers'  heads, 
and  yet — they  were  here.  Curious !  he  thought. 

It  was  as  though  he  had  come  on  a  place  that  he  had 
visited  in  a  dream,  he  could  not  shake  off  the  feeling  of 
familiarity,  the  knowledge,  the  certainty  that  attended  his 
every  step.  He  knew  that  the  green  door  would  be  arched 


44       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

at  the  top  and  that  it  would  be  studded  with  great  nails 
and  bound  with  iron  in  many  places. 

He  knew  that  it  would  be  and  it  was !  He  fitted  the  heavy 
key  in  the  lock  and  it  turned  at  last  with  much  rasping 
and  complaining. 

The  door  gave  on  a  paved  yard  and  in  the  crevices  of  the 
great  flat  topped  cobbles  grew  weeds  of  all  kind  that  bloomed 
and  flourished  untouched. 

And  now  the  feeling  of  familiarity,  the  knowledge  of 
the  place  had  grown  on  him,  so  that  he  wondered  at  it  no 
longer.  He  accepted  it,  because  it  was  right,  because — he 
refused  to  consider  it  at  all.  He  knew ! 

To  the  left  stood  the  kitchen  part  of  the  house,  he  glanced 
towards  it,  but  turned  to  the  right  and  picked  his  way  across 
the  weed  grown  yard  and  came  to  a  small  wicket  gate,  be- 
tween two  tumble  down  buildings.  The  wicket  gate  had 
fallen  into  rottenness  and  lay  all  in  fragments  on  the  ground, 
but  through  the  opening  that  was  left  he  passed  and  found 
himself  in  the  wild  tangle  of  the  great  garden. 

Through  the  garden  he  walked,  a  man  waking,  yet  in  a 
strange  dream.  He  followed  the  flagged  pathway  past  the 
old  sundial  that  had  lost  its  gnomon,  beyond  the  wild  yew 
hedge  and  so  to  the  lake,  from  which  rose  the  slim  figure 
of  a  stone  girl  and  at  her  he  stared  long. 

He  suddenly  realised  that  he  had  come  here  to  see  her, 
he  had  come  on  purpose,  just  to  see  this  stone  figure  of  a 
girl.  He  would  have  been  disappointed,  almost  shocked,  if 
she  had  not  been  here — and  she  was  here — but  the  pitcher 
on  her  shoulder  was  empty  and  the  upflung  water  flashed 
no  longer  in  the  sunlight. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  he  turned  away,  he  went  back  through 
the  rose  garden  with  bowed  head,  he  came  to  the  great 
circle  of  stone  in  the  midst  of  which  was  set  the  old  sundial, 
and  on  a  stone  seat,  warmed  by  the  sun,  he  sat  down. 
|  "Strange!"  he  said.  He  said  it  aloud.  "Strange!"  he 
repeated.  "I  seem  to  know "  He  stretched  his  arm  out 


ALLAN  CAME  TO  THE  GARDEN  45 

and  laid  it  on  the  back  of  the  old  stone  seat,  and  sat  there 
staring  at  the  moss  grown  sundial  pedestal — staring  till  it 
seemed  to  waver,  to  become  all  uncertain  before  his  sight. 

And  then — then  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  about  him. 

He  saw  a  garden  all  glowing  with  flowers,  and  trim  green 
lawns,  the  weeds,  the  desolation  and  the  ruin  of  centuries 
had  passed  as  with  a  breath.  The  garden  was  all  glowing 
and  blowing  as  perhaps  it  had  two  hundred  years  ago,  and 
then  slowly  he  turned  his  head  and  looked  towards  the  house 
and  saw.  that  doors  and  windows  stood  open  and  that  cur- 
tains swung  from  the  casements  lazily  in  the  breeze.  And 
as  he  watched  a  door  opened  and  into  the  sunshine  stepped, 
somewhat  timidly  he  thought,  a  little  maid,  a  trim,  slim 
bodied  little  maid.  She  wore  a  flowered  cotton  gown,  short 
at  the  ankles  and  low  in  the  neck,  and  how  the  sun  seemed 
to  kiss  it!  And  the  little  face  above,  a  rarely  sweet  little 
face,  purely  oval  with  ripe  red  lips  and  the  bluest  eyes  in 
the  world.  So  she  came  hurrying  along  the  wide  stone  path- 
way to  him,  a  smile  on  her  red  lips  and  the  copper  red  of 
her  hair  all  flaming  in  the  sunlight  under  the  dainty  mob 
cap. 

But  ere  she  reached  him,  she  stood  still  suddenly  and 
looked  at  him  with  a  pretty  frown  that  was  yet  half  a  smile 
on  her  little  face. 

"Allan!"  she  said.  "Allan,  be  you  still  angry  wi'  your 
Betty  now,  dear  ?  Will  'ee  take  back  the  words  'ee  did  speak 
in  your  anger,  Allan  ?  For  you  should  know  I  would  not  have 
let  a  gawky  rogue  like  Tim  Burnand  buss  me,  Allan,  if  I 
could  'a  helped  it.  Before  I  could  tell  what  he  was  at,  he 
did  steal  a  kiss,  and  I  have  rubbed  my  poor  face  sore  to  rub 
it  all  away  for — for  I  want  no  kisses  but  thine  Allan,  my — 
my  dear!" 

Her  voice  was  very  soft  and  sweet  and  the  tears  gathered 
in  her  wonderful  blue  eyes,  tears  that  seemed  to  wring  his 
heart. 

"I — I  was  overharsh  and  rough  wi*  thee,  my  Betty,"  he 


46        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

said.     **i  know  'twas  not  your  fault,  tut  all  the  fault  of 
Tim  Burnand  whose  bones  I'll  break  for  him,  may  -  " 


—  swear  not  !"  she  said.  "Oh  Allan,  I  love  thee  for 
thy  jealousy,  I  love  thee  for  it!"  Her  eyes  were  laughing 
and  joyous  now  and  her  face  was  all  smiles  and  dimples 
and  so  she  came  to  him,  daintily,  and  put  her  two  small 
hands,  little  brown  hands  in  queer  black  lace  mittens,  on  his 
shoulders  and  rising  on  her  toes,  she  kissed  him  on  the  eyes. 

"And  never,  never  more  will  'ee  be  angry  and  jealous 
of  your  Betty  ?"  she  said. 

"Never  again  !"  he  said.  "But  because  I  do  love  thee  so, 
my  maid  I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  other  lips  -  " 

"Have  never  touched  mine,  'twas  but  my  cheek  he  bussed, 
and  I  boxed  his  ears  soundly  for  him  —  but  hush  —  I  hear  my 
lady  calling  to  me  —  Listen!  Betty!  Betty!  yes  —  I  did  but 
steal  away,  seeing  you  here  —  just  to  tell  thee  -  "  She 
paused  for  breath  for  a  moment  "to  tell  thee,  my  Allan,  how 
I  do  love  thee!  Hark,  my  lady  is  calling  again!" 

"Blow  me,  sir,  if  I  didn't  think  you'd  been  and  lost  your- 
self or  fell  down  the  old  well,  which  I  did  ought  to  have- 
reminded  you  about,  or  something!"  said  a  voice. 

Allan  started  up,  stared  up  into  the  round  red  and  over- 
heated face  of  Mr.  Dalabey.  He  looked  about  him  with 
dazed  eyes.  Weeds  were  rioting  over  the  old  garden,  the 
grass  stood  knee  high  on  the  lawns,  dandelions  thrust  tteir 
golden  heads  between  the  paving  stones  at  his  feet.  He  stared 
at  the  house  and  saw  it  all,  sombre  and  lifeless,  a  house  of  the 
dead.  Its  windows  were  broken,  desolation  and  ruin  were 
upon  it,  and  then  he  looked  back  at  the  jolly  red  face  of 
Mr.  Dalabey. 

"Fell  asleep  V*  Mr.  Dalabey  said.  "And  been  dreaming  !" 
he  added. 

"Yes  —  dreaming  -  "  Allan  said  quietly.     "Dreaming  !" 


CHAPTER   V 

HIT  WHICH   ALLAN    BUYS    THE    MANOR   HOUSE 

IN  and  out  and  up  and  down  Mr.  Dalabey  led  Allan  over 
the  old  house.  They  pried  into  dark  and  dusty  cor- 
ners, they  ascended  narrow  and  rickety  stairs.  It  was  a 
wonderful,  rambling  old  place,  the  years  had  set  their  mark 
on  it.  The  old  oaken  floors,  worn  and  roughened  by  a 
thousand  feet,  took  on  many  a  queer  pitch;  from  the  pine 
panelling  the  paint  had  come  away  in  great  flakes;  scarce 
a  window  but  had  its  broken  pane  and  through  the  pane 
some  impertinent  creeper  thrust  into  the  room  and  nodded 
to  them  familiarly. 

Allan  followed  the  stout,  red  faced,  good  humoured  man 
up  and  down  the  stairs  and  in  and  out  the  old  rooms.  A 
great  talker  was  Mr.  Dalabey,  a  born  seller  of  houses. 

"This  here  be  the  banquetting  hall,  a  very  noble  room,  sir, 
very  noble,  fit  for  the  aristocracy,  her  be,  and  a  good  many 
of  the  aristocracy  it  hev  seen,  sir,  and  many  a  bottle  hev 
been  drunk  here,  sir,  I'll  wager!  Look  at  the  ceiling,  sir, 
some  of  the  finest  old  plaster  work  to  be  met  with  in  the 
kingdom,  wonderful  fine  plaster  work  it  be,  as  many  gents 
as  be  connoisseurs,  hev  remarked.  Greatly  took  with  the 
plaster  work  was  Mr.  Van  ^orden." 

"Yes,"  Allan  said,  and  "Yes !"  For  his  thoughts  were  far 
away,  he  looked  through  the  broken  and  dusty  windows  into 
the  garden  with  its  weeds  and  its  broken  pathways  and  over- 
grown flower  beds,  and  a  strange  sense  of  loss  came  to  him. 
He  felt  a  little  ache  at  his  heart,  for  the  girl  who  had  come 
to  him  in  that  same  strange  dream  and  had  kissed  his  eyes 
and  called  him  "her  dear." 

47 


48        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

How  real  she  Lad  been.  He  marvelled  now  at  the  feel- 
ing that  had  been  his  at  the  time,  that  she  was  a  very  part 
of  his  life.  How  sweet  and  musical  her  voice,  how  warm 
and  soft  the  touch  of  her  red  lips  and  yet  it  had  only  been 
a  dream! 

"This  be  one  o'  the  guest  rooms  and  you'll  notice  the  wig 
cupboard,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Dalabey ;  "very  remarkable  this  wig 
cupboard,  you'll  see  'em  in  most  of  the  bedrooms  where  the 
quality  of  them  days  kep'  their  wigs.  Much  took  Mr.  Van 
Norden  was  with  they  wig  cupboards !" 

"Yes!"  said  Allan,  and  all  the  time  his  thoughts  were 
with  the  maiden  of  the  garden,  she  who  had  kissed  his  eyes 
and  had  vanished  as  she  had  come,  leaving  him  with  this 
strange  sense  of  loneliness  and  longing  and  hunger,  and 
above  all  that  deep,  deep  sense  of  loss. 

"And  now  I  think  we've  pretty  well  done  it,  sir,  there's 
the  stables,  rare  fine  stables  they  was  once.  Seldom  less 
than  twenty  bosses  did  they  keep  in  them  stables  in  the 
Elmacott's  days " 

"Whose  days?" 

"Elmacott,  that  were  the  name  o?  the  folk,  dead  and  gone 
they  be  now — Sir  Nathaniel  were  the  last,  a  rare  wild  devil 
of  a  man  according  to  history,  my  old  grandfather,  a  won- 
derful man  he  were,  would  tell  me  many  a  story  of  Sir  K"at, 
as  they  called  him,  when  I  were  a  boy.  Stories  my  old 
granddad  had  from  his  father  before  him — well  sir,"  Mr. 
Dalabey  paused,  "we.ll,  sir,  there  it  be,  I've  shewn  you  all 
there  is  to  see,  hiding  nothing,  a  rare  lot  of  money'll  be 
wanted  to  be  spent  on  it,  sir,  and  there  be  no  disguising  the 
fact,  nor  have  I  attempted  to  disguise  it,  as  you'll  bear  wit- 
ness, sir,  but  there  be  this  Mr.  Van  Norden  keen  set  on  the 
place  and  likely  for  to  make  up  his  mind  any  moment,  con- 
sidering of  it  he  is  at  this  very  time,  I  daresay!" 

"Who  are  the  owners  ?"  Allan  asked. 

"A  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Stimpson  be  the  owner,  a 
distant  relative  of  the  Elmacotts  by  marriage.  I  do  un- 


ALLAN  BUYS  THE  MANOR  HOUSE    49 

derstand,  out  in  Canada  he  be,  born  and  bred  there  and 
never  clapped  eyes  on  the  place,  nor  ever  likely  to.  I've  got 
to  get  the  best  price  I  can  for  the  place,  seeing  he  be  my 

client,  and  the  price  I've  asked  Mr.  Van  Norden "  Dala- 

bey  paused.  He  looked  at  Allan,  he  had  no  great  opinion 
of  Allan.  "Queer  and  dreamy  like,"  Mr.  Dalabey  thought, 
"not  businesslike,  one  of  they  sort  who  goes  through  the 
world  mooning " 

"And  the  price?"  Allan  asked. 

"Er — thirty  thousand  pounds,"   said  Dalabey. 

"It's  a  great  deal  of  money,"  Allan  said,  he  said  it  more 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something  than  for  any  other  reason. 
Had  Dalabey  said  fifty  thousand  pounds,  he  would  prob- 
ably have  said  the  same  thing. 

"Open  to  an  offer  I  be,  but  the  offer's  got  to  come  quick 
and  soon,  or  Mr.  Van  Norden " 

"I  know,  I  know!"  Allan  stood  and  stared  out  over  the 
garden.  He  wondered  at  its  strange  fascination  for  him. 
Of  course  it  had  only  been  a  dream,  yet  a  dream  so  strangely 
real,  so  clear  cut,  so  logical  and  why — why  should  it  have 
come  to  him  here  in  this  old  garden — why? 

Mr.  Dalabey  was  staring  at  him. 

"Gone  to  sleep  he  hev  seemingly." 

"Thirty  thousand,  sir,  and  that  be  no  more  than  forty 
pounds  an  acre  for  good  Sussex  land  by  my  reckoning,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  old  house  and  the  buildings  and  a  dozen 
cottages  in  the  village  wi'  the  alehouse,  the  Elmacott  Arms." 

"Yes,  yes!"  Allan  said.  "Yes!  I  am  acting  for  my 
father.  I  have  his  permission  to — to  settle — the  house  will 
cost  a  great  deal  to  repair,  a  great  deal !" 

"I  haven't  disguised  nothing  from  you  and  no  one  can 
say -" 

"I  will  offer  you  twenty-five  thousand  on  my  father's  be- 
half!" 

"Oh  sir,  oh  consider !  A  fine  house  her  be  and  wunnerful 
good  land  the  best  in  all  Sussex  and  twenty-five  thousand 


50       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

b'ain't  no  more  than  about  thirty  pounds  an  acre,  a  terribul 
little  money  that,  sir,  for  land  so  good  and  the  historical  as- 
sociation and  all!" 

"Twenty-seven!"  Allan  said  briefly. 

"There  be  Mr.  Van  Norden  a  considering  of  it  at  this 
very  moment " 

Allan  hated  bargaining,  hated  money.  His  life  had  been 
spent  in  an  atmosphere  of  money.  He  knew  that  above  and 
before  all  he  wanted  to  be  rid  of  this  man,  he  wanted  to  go 
back  to  the  old  garden  and  sit  there  on  the  sun  warmed 
stone  seat  and  see  if  his  dream  would  not  come  back  to  him. 

"Twenty-eight  thousand,  then,  and  no  more,  I  have  done, 
take  it  or  leave  it!" 

"You'll  like  to  see  the  cottages  and  the  Inn,  a  wunnerful 
old  Inn  her  be  with  historical  interest  and " 

"No !"  said  Allan.  "No !  do  you  take  my  offer,  yes  or  no  ? 
Tell  me  now!" 

Mr.  Dalabey  stroked  his  chin.  He  did  not  like  to  do  busi- 
ness in  this  way.  True  it  was  profitable  business,  for  Mr. 
Van  Norden  was  considering  the  offer  at  twenty-five  thou- 
sand. 

"Very  well,  sir,  done  and  done!"  said  Mr.  Dalabey. 
"Done  with  you,  sir,  and  I  congratulate  you  on  a  rare  bar- 
gain, I  do,  sir!"  He  held  out  his  large  and  moist  hand. 

Allan  took  it. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "I  will  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favour !  I 
have  purchased  the  place  at  twenty-eight  thousand  pounds. 
I  have  a  cheque  for  five  hundred  pounds  as  deposit  in  my 
pocket,  if  I  had  a  pen " 

"I've  got  a  fountain  pen  with  me,  sir,"  said  Dalabey, 
"always  carry  one  I  du!" 

"Very  well  then,  we  will  sit  down  here — and  if  you  will 
lend  me  your  pen ?" 

They  sat  down  on  the  old  stone  seat  and  Allan  filled  in  the 
cheque. 


ALLAN  BUYS  THE  MANOR  HOUSE    51 

"Make  it  payable  to  me,"  Dalabey  said.  "Thomas  J.  Dala- 
bey," which  Allan  did. 

"And  now,"  Allan  said,  "Fd  like  to  look  about  the  old 
place  alone,  take  the  cheque  and  I  will  call  at  your  office 
on  my  way  back,  you  can  then  give  me  the  receipt." 

"To  be  sure  and  so  I  will,  and  once  more  congratulate 
you  I  do,  and  if  so  be  you'll  honour  me,  sir,  I'll  have  a  cup 
of  tea  ready  and  waiting  for  you  when  you  come  back!" 

"Thank  you!"  Allan  said.  "And  now,  one  thing  more, 
how  is  the  old  place  called,  Mr.  Dalabey?" 

"Why  'tis  Homewood  Manor,  I  thought  as  I  mentioned 
the  name  in  my  letter " 

"JSTo,  you  did  not,  though  I  remember  someone  else  spoke 
of  it  to  me — Homewood  Manor,  that  is  strange!" 

"In  the  Parish  of  Homewood  it  be,"  said  Dalabey,  "just 
within,  and  the  next  Parish  be  Little  Stretton,  but  as 
this " 

"I  understand,  I  quite  understand,  but  all  the  same  it  is 
curious !" 

"I  don't  see  how,"  said  Mr.  Dalabey,  "curious  it  'lid  b0 
if  it  were  called  anything  else,  sir!" 

"Look  at  the  cheque,  at  the  signature!"  Allan  said. 

Mr.  Dalabey  looked,  he  uttered  an  exclamation  as  lie 
spelled  out  Josiah  Homewood's  crabbed  handwriting. 

"Very  odd  it  be,  I  swear !"  he  said.  "And  very  right  and 
proper  too,  come  to  that,  nothing  could  be  better !  Mr.  Home- 
wood  of  Homewood  Manor,  it  sounds  good,  sir !  And  now  I'll 
get  back  and  a  cup  o'  tea'll  be  ready  for  you  in  say  an  hour's 
time » 

"Say  two "  Allan  said,  "and  thank  you!" 

So  Dalabey  hiirried  off  to  spread  the  news  through  Little 
Stretton.  Beaming  with  joy  he  was,  as  he  cycled  down  the 
road. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Hanson,  there  you  be,  Ma'am!"  he  shouted, 
slowing  down  by  the  little  cottage.  "News  I've  got  for  'ee 
and  for  that  little  gel  o'  thine!" 


"News — hev  the  American- 


,  ma'am,  he  hasn't !  Why,  my  maid,  what  be  the  mat- 
ter wi'  *ee?"  Dalabey  added,  for  he  had  caught  sight  of 
Betty's  blooming  face  in  the  window. 

And  a  pretty  picture  the  girl  made,  her  sweet  face  framed 
in  the  clinging  greenery  and  the  roses  on  the  point  of  break- 
ing into  bloom,  but  the  sweetest  rose  of  all  was  there  in  the 
window. 

"Fair  joyous  you  do  look,"  said  Dalabey,  "joyous  be  the 
word,  all  bubbling  over  wi'  delight — and  yet — you  cannot 
have  heard  the  news  of  the  selling  yet  ?" 

"The — the  selling — Mr.  Dalabey,  not — not  the  selling  of — 
my — of — oh  you  said — the  American  hasn't  bought " 

"Homewood  Manor  be  sold,  sold  by  I,  this  very  day,  Mrs. 
Hanson,  sold  by  I  within  the  hour!"  He  rubbed  his  big  red 
hands,  "and  a  fair  price,  yes  I'll  admit,  a  fair  price  as 
things  go — but  sold  it  be,  sold  and  done  for,  but  not  to  the 
American  gentleman — Why,  Mrs.  Hanson,  what  be  the 
matter  wi'  that  gel  o'  thine  ?" 

.  For  Betty  had  gone  white,  white  as  death,  and  the  joy  had 
gone  out  of  her  face  and  her  little  red  lips  dragged  down  piti- 
fully and  into  her  blue  eyes  had  come  tears,  tears  which  all 
unnoticed  trickled  down  her  pale  cheeks. 

"Fair  daft  that  maid  be  about  that  old  garden!"  said 
Mrs.  Hanson.  "And  glad  I  be,  Mr.  Dalabey,  as  the  place 
be  sold,  and  put  to  orders,  I  hope  it'll  be,  so  this  maid  of 
mine  will  go  no  more  roamin'  where  her  haven't  no  business 
to  be!" 

"Ah  yes,  to  be  sure,  to  be  sure!"  Mr.  Dalabey  said.  "To 
be  sure,"  he  added,  "well !  sold  it  be  and,  strangest  of  all,  to  a 
young  gentleman,  leastways  his  father,  which  be  all  the  same, 
of  the  name  of  Homewood.  There,  what  do  'ee  think  of 
that  now  ?  Homewood  Manor  sold  to  a  Homewood,  curious, 
eh?  Well,  well,  I  must  be  getting  along!" 

"Sold  it  be  and  a  dratted  good  job  too!"  Mrs.  Hanson 
said. 


Betty  crept  away  to  her  attic  room  under  the  thatched 
roof.  Sold!  Her  garden  sold  and  for  ever  now  barred 
against  her!  No  more  rambles  in  the  enchanted  garden  by 
moonlight,  no  more  dreams  in  which  she  peopled  the  old 
garden  with  all  those  strange  folk,  of  whom  she  had  seen 
visions.  And  He — she  would  never  see  Him  more,  bend- 
ing over  the  flower  beds  at  his  work.  He  whose  face  she 
had  hardly  seen,  and  yet  somehow  she  knew  that  He  meant 
so  much  to  her.  So  the  little  maid  crept  to  her  room  with. 
bursting  heart. 

"Sold  it  be,  sold  it  be,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  VI 

'"l  HATE  HIM HATE  HIM  I  DU !" 

ALLAN  sat  on  the  old  stone  seat  in  the  warm  sunshine. 
He  watched  the  rioting  weeds,  the  broken  sundial,  the 
long  pathway  of  flagged  stone  leading  to  the  grim  desolate 
house. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  opened  them  again,  hoping  to  see 
that  vision  he  had  seen,  but  it  came  to  him  no  more.  No! 
there  were  only  the  weeds  and  the  decay  and  the  green  moss. 

So  he  sat  there  for  a  full  hour  and  tried  to  force  that 
which  would  not  come.  He  could  see  her,  in  fancy,  tripping 
down  the  flagged  path  to  him,  with  love  and  tenderness  in  her 
blue  eyes,  that  dainty  little  figure  with  the  head  of  flaming 
gold  and  the  white  neck.  But  it  was  a  vision  that  could 
not  be  forced. 

So  presently,  disheartened  and  hopeless,  he  rose  and  went 
to  the  lake  and  stared  hard  at  the  broken  stone  nymph  and 
watched  the  great  idle  fish  and  the  sense  of  loss  grew  stronger 
and  yet  stronger  On  him. 

Who  was  she  who  had  come  out  of  the  past  to  kiss  his 
eyes  and  to  tell  him  that  she  loved  him  ?  Why  should  such 
dreams  come  to  him?  He  had  never  dreamed  in  all  his 
life  before,  but  she  had  been  so  real,  even  to  the  little  black 
lace  mittens,  black  lace  mittens  such  he  had  never  seen  on  a 
girl's  hands  before.  Yet  he  had  dreamed  of  her  and  the 
sweet  voice  of  her  and  the  sweet  Sussex  speech  and  strangely 
enough,  had  he  not  answered  her  in  that  same  speech  2  He 
remembered  it  now  with  a  sudden  start  of  surprise. 

Yes,  he  with  Eton  and  Oxford  behind  him,  had  spoken 
as  she  had  spoken,  as  the  old  man  who  had  told  him  about 
the  broken  Cross  in  Little  Stretton  had  spoken. 

54 


"I  HATE  HIM!"  55 

He  turned  away,  he  made  his  way  back  through  the  gar- 
den. He  wondered  at  his  seeming  previous  knowledge  of 
it  now,  for  that  knowledge  was  gone,  it,  took  him  some  time 
to  find  the  gap  where  the  broken  wicket  gate  had  been,  but 
he  found  it  and  went,  blundering  and  uncertain,  across  the 
grass  grown  stable  yard. 

He  locked  the  battered  green  door  behind  him  and  thrust 
the  great  key  into  his  coat  pocket  and  went  along  the  road, 
and  on  the  way  to  the  village  he  passed  a  little  thatched  roofed 
cottage  and  under  that  thatched  roof  a  maid  was  lying  on  her 
little  bed,  face  downward,  weeping  her  heart  out  for  the 
thing  that  he  had  done,  yet  he  could  not  know  that.  How 
could  he  ?  He  saw  an  old  dame  standing  by  the  little  gate, 
an  upright  severe  old  dame,  with  white  hair  and  a  wrinkled 
face,  and  she  bobbed  him  a  country  curtsey. 

To  her  Allan  lifted  his  hat  politely. 

"A  beautiful  day!"  he  said. 

"And  that  it  be,  a  wunnerful  fine  day  and  hot  like  for 

May  her  be,  sir  and  might — might  I  make  bold "  she 

hesitated. 

Allan  stopped  and  looked  at  her  with  kindly  eyes. 

"You  were  going  to  ask  me  something  ?" 

"Cur-us  I  be,  which  be  a  besetting  sin!"  she  admitted. 
"But  Mr.  Dalabey  he  hev  passed  by  just  now  when  my  maid 
and  I — my  granddarter  her  be,  were  here  and  he  told  we  as 
he  hev  sold  the  old  Manor  House  and  I  were  thinking,  sir, 
seeing  the  key  was  sticking  out  of  your  pocket " 

Allan  laughed.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "you  are  right,  I  have 
bought  it,  for  my  father,  that  is " 

"A  wunnerful  fine  place  it  be!"  she  said. 

"And  we  shall  be  near  neighbours,  eh  ?" 

Again  she  dropped  a  curtsey. 

"  'Tisn't  for  the  like  of  we  to  be  a  neighbour  to  the  like  of 
gentry,"  she  added,  "but  if  any  little  thing  I  can  du " 

"Be  sure  I  will  come  and  ask  you  Mrs. " 

"Hanson  be  my  name,  sir,  as  anyone  can  tell  'ee.     Old 


56        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

this  cottage  be,  but  there  never  yet  lived  in  it  one  whose 
name  was  not  Hanson.  'Twere  Hansons  lived  here  in  the 
days  when  the  Elmacotts  lived  at  the  Manor,  Hansons  hev 
been  servants  there,  always  served  the  Elmacotts,  they  did, 
and  if,  sir,  there  be  any  little  thing  that  we  can  du " 

"You  are  very  good !"  Allan  said. 

"A  dear  talkative  old  soul,"  he  thought;  he  held  out  a 
friendly  hand  to  her  and  she  blushed  at  the  honour  and 
bobbed  him  a  dozen  curtseys  as  he  went  his  way. 

"Betty,  Betty,  my  maid,  Betty,  come  'ee  here,  Betty, 
where  be  'ee  ?  Come  here !"  cried  Mrs.  Hanson,  when  Allan 
had  gone. 

"Here  I  be,  Grandmother !"  Betty  came,  a  pale  sorrowful 
faced  little  maiden. 

"And  crying  'ee've  been,  shame  on  'ee  my  maid  for  to 
cry  because  that  dirty  old  place  hev  been  sold  and  who  do  'ee 
think  I  have  been  talkin'  wi'  ?  Why  bless  'ee  wi'  the  young 
gentleman  as  hev  bought  her  and  a  proper  young  gentleman 
he  be,  not  above  shaking  hands  wi'  an  old  body  like  me  and 
lifting  of  his  hat  to  I,  for  all  the  world  like  I  were  a  fine 
lady !  Bless  'ee  my  maid,  a  fine,  upstanding,  smart  young 
gentleman  he  be,  one  of  the  quality  too,  aye  of  the  quality, 
my  maid,  for  mark  'ee  the  real  quality  are  never  above  shak- 
ing hands  wi'  a  poor  body  and  talking  pleasant  to  the  likes  o' 
we !  'Tis  they  upstarts  and  nobodys  as  looks  down  on  poor 
folks !  When  'ee  sees  him  Betty,  'ee'll " 

"I  never  want  to  see  him,  never!"  the  girl  cried,  "Never, 
never,  I  hope  I  never  shall  see  him !" 

"Bless  me  what  nonsense  are  'ee  talking  now?" 

"I  never  want  to  see  him,  for — for  if  I  du,  I  shall  hate  him, 
hate  him,  aye,  J  hate  him  now,  I  du — hate  him  terribul 
bad,  I  du " 

"For  shame  and  to  your  room  wi'  'ee  till  you  du  come  to 
your  senses — I  be  ashamed  o'  you,  Betty  Hanson,  that  I  be! 

Hate  him  indeed,  hate  him,  a  fine  upstanding " 

"I  hate  him,  I  hate  him,  I  hate  him!"  Betty  said,  and 


"I  HATE  HIM!"  57 

then  once  again,  with  defiance  and  anger  and  sorrow  too 
in  her  blue  eyes,  "I  hate  him,  I  du,  Grandmother !" 

Mrs.  Hanson  lifted  a  rigid  arm,  she  pointed  at  the  door. 

"To  your  room  wi'  'ee,  Betty  Hanson,"  she  said,  "I  be 
ashamed  of  'ee,  I  be,  to  your  room,  you  perilous  bad  maid  I" 


CHAPTER   VII 

"HOW  WONDERFUL THE  WAY  OP  THINGS** 

BLESS  my  soul!"  Sir  Josiah  said,  "Bless  my  soul!" 
He  said  it  several  times,  there  was  a  look  of  astonish- 
ment on  his  red  round  face,  "Bless  my  soul,  sir!" 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  large  and  imposing  room,  his 
hands  behind  his  hack. 

"And  how  about  the  drains,  did  you  make  any  enquiry 
about  the  drains  ? 

"No!"  said  Allan. 

"No,  you  wouldn't,  nor  about  the  water!  Is  water  laid 
on,  eh,  answer  me  that  ?" 

"I — I  don't  know,  father,  I  am  afraid  I — I  was  a  bad 
representative !" 

"It's  enough  to  worry  a  man's  head  off,"  cried  his  father. 
"Here  do  I  go  trusting  you  to  go  and — and — not  a  thing 
do  you  know!  Hand  over  my  cheque  for  five  hundred 
pounds  like  it  was  a  bagatelle  as  the  saying  is.  You  don't 
know  anythin'  about  the  title  deeds,  nothing  about  the  drains, 
nothing  about  the  water,  while  you  admit  the  state  of  repair 
of  the  house  is  somethin'  disgraceful !" 

"Father,  I  wish  you  had  gone  yourself,  I  told  you " 

"Yes,  I  know,  you  told  me  I  know,  you  did — told  me  you 
weren't  no  good  at  bargaining,  and  I'm  afraid  you  were 

right !    Here  you  go  and — and — and "  Sir  Josiah  paused, 

a  little  breathlessly. 

"Well,  what^s  the  place  like?  Just  try  my  lad  and  pull 
yourself  together  and  describe  it!" 

"Homewood  Manor  is " 

"What  Manor?" 

58 


"THE  WAY  OF  THINGS"  59 

"Hoinewood — it  bears  the  same  name  as  we  do,  father!" 

Sir  Josiah  sat  down,  he  sat  down  abruptly  and  stared  wide 
eyed  at  his  son. 

"Homewood "  he  gasped,  "Little  Stretton — Home- 
wood  Manor — well,  well  if  this  don't  beat  anything — any- 
thing I've  ever  heard — Homewood " 

"It  is  an  odd  coincidence,"  said  Allan. 

"Odd  coincidence,  it's  more — it's  more.  It  is  the  very 
hand  of  Fate,  that's  what  it  is,  the  hand  of  Fate,  you  don't 

understand  of  course  you  don't "  he  paused.  "Allan  did 

you  ever  hear  the  name  Pringle  ?" 

"Pringle  ?"  asked  Allan,  puzzled,  "of  course  I  have  heard 
it,  but " 

"Heard  it,  just  heard  it — eh?  That's  all,  just  heard  it, 
mentioned  and  nothing  more,  eh  ?" 

"It's  a  name  I  have  heard,  father,  that's  all  1" 

"And  don't  signify  anything  to  you,  nothing  particular,  out 
of  the  way,  eh  ?" 

"Nothing,  father!" 

"Bless  me,  bless  me,  you  never  heard  me  speak  of  Allan 
Pringle  of  The  Green  Gate  Inn  in  Aldgate?" 

Allan  shook  his  head. 

"A  wonderful  man!"  said  Sir  Josiah.  "Allan,  his  name 
was,  the  same  as  yours  and  Allan  was  his  father  before  him 
and  his  father  before  him,  yes  Allans  all  along  the  line,  till 
they  came  to  me,  only  me  they  called  Josiah,  Josiah  after 
Josiah  Rodwell,  my  mother's  father,  hoping  to  get  a  bit  out 
of  the  old  man,  which  they  never  did,  bless  me!  and  never 
heard  of  Allan  Pringle,  you  haven't  ? 

"Queer  too,"  Josiah  rambled  on,  "that  he  should  be  the 
kind  of  man  he  was,  they  said  of  him  as  he  could  squeeze 
gold  out  of  a  stone  and  I  b'lieve  he  could.  Coming  from 
the  country,  a  farm  hand  he  was  and  his  father  a  gardener 
and  his  father's  father  a  gardener,  grubbing  about  in  the 
earth,  Allan,  and  yet  Allan  Pringle  came  to  London,  a  farm- 
er's boy  and  makes  a  little  fortune !" 


60        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"But  who  was  lie  ?" 

"My  grandfather,  Allan  Pringle  was.  He  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  our  fortune !  My  father  was  keen  and  clever,  not 
up  to  the  old  man  though.  Still  he  did  not  do  so  badly, 
he  left  me  forty  thousand  when  he  died,  that's  what  I've 
been  building  on,  Allan,  and  now — now — maybe  it's  nearer 
twenty  times  forty  thousand,  my  boy!  That  comes  of 
having  a  head  on  you — a  head  which  you  haven't  got  and 
never  will  have!" 

"Then  your  name  is — is  Pringle?" 

"Was !"  said  Sir  Josiah.  "It  was  my  father  who  took  the 
name  of  Homewood  when  he  began  to  get  on  a  bit  and 
wanted  to  sink  the  aleshop",  called  himself  Homewood  after 
the  place  where  his  father  was  born  and  where  all  the  family 
came  from " 

"And  it  is  this  very  place  that  to-day ?" 

Sir  Josiah  nodded.  "The  very  place !"  he  said.  "Queer, 
isn't  it,  Allan  ?  Very  queer !  When  I  heard  the  name  Little 
Stretton,  it  set  me  thinking,  but  even  then  I  didn't  quite 
catch  on.  But  now,  Homewood  Manor,  why  bless  me,  boy — 
my  grandfather,  Allan  Pringle's  mother,  was  maid  in  that 
very  house  and  my  great  grandfather,  Allan  Pringle  he  was, 
Allan,  the  same  as  you,  he  and  she  was  sweethearting,  her  the 
lady's  maid,  he  the  under  gardener,  and  got  married,  they 
did.  A  wonderful  pretty  young  woman,  so  I've  heard  and  a 
sad  story  if  what  one  hears  is  true,  hadn't  been  married  a 
year  when  she  died  when  the  boy  was  born,  him  as  afterwards 
kept  the  Green  Gate  Inn  in  Aldgate.  And  now,  now  after  all 
these  years,  Allan,  here  am  I,  buying  the  very  house,  the 
Tery  house,  my  boy,  where  my  greatgrandfather  was  under; 
gardener  and  my  great-grandmother  was  lady's  maid.  Won- 
derful, isn't  it  ?  Wonderful  the  way  of  things,  Allan  ?" 

"Wonderful!"  Allan  said  dreamily.  "Very  wonderful — > 

the  way  of  things — Father "  He  turned  suddenly  pii 

Sir  Josiah,  "This — this  marriage  of  mine " 

"Well,  what  about  it  P  * 


"THE  WAY  OF  THINGS"  01 


must  go  on  —  there's  no  way  -  " 

Sir  Josiah  stared,  his  round  face  grew  redder,  it  turned 
purple.  "Way,"  he  shouted,  "to  what?  Are  you  going  to 
kick  against  it  now  ?  Are  you  going  to,  to  turn  everything 
down  now  ?  But  —  but  you  can't  do  it  —  you  can't  do  it  !  If 
you  do  I'll  never  forgive  you,  never  to  my  dying  day  and 
after  and  then  —  think  of  her  ladyship  —  Lady  Kathleen,  do 
you  mean  you  want  to  back  out  of  it,  Allan,  now  ?" 

Allan  did  not  answer,  he  stared  out  of  the  window,  he  did 
not  see  the  gloomy  London  Square,  he  saw  a  garden,  sweet 
with  flowers  and  down  the  paved  pathway  a  little  maid  with 
sunkissed  hair  and  eyes  as  blue  as  the  Heavens  came  tripping 
towards  him. 

"Allan,  Allan,"  she  said,  "my  dear,  I  love  you  so  I" 

"Allan  you  —  you  can't  do  it!"  Sir  Josiah's  old  voice 
trembled,  he  came  and  put  a  hand  on  Allan's  shoulder.  "It  —  * 
it  isn't  as  if  it  was  only  a  promise  to  me,  to  me  now,  it's  a 
promise  to  her,  you  can't  shame  and  disgrace  her  —  Lady 
Kathleen  —  you  can't  —  by  —  by  Heaven  you  can't!  Allan, 
it  isn't  a  thing  that  even  I'd  do,  much  less  a  gentleman  like 

you!" 

"I  understand,  father,  I  understand  that,  it  —  it  must  go 
on,  I  shall  not  back  out  of  it  as  you  say  —  it  shall  go  on!" 

"An!"  Sir  Josiah  said,  "ah,  a  lady,  an  Earl's  daughter, 
Lady  Kathleen  Homewood  of  Homewood  Manor,  that  sounds 
good,  Allan  boy,  eh?  Sounds  good,  don't  it?  I  can  hear 
myself  saying  it  —  at  the  Club  —  my  daughter-in-law,  Lady 
Kathleen  Homewood!  !No,  you  can't  back  out  of  it  now, 
Allan,  I'd  never  forgive  you  if  you  did  —  Besides,  why  should 
you  ?  Last  night  you  weren't  against  it,  Allan  -  " 

"Last  night,"  Allan  said,  "last  night  -  "  he  paused. 
How  far  away  seemed  last  night  !  Sir  Josiah  was  watching 
him  anxiously  and  Allan  smiled. 

"Yes,  I  understand,  it  must  go  on.  now,  but  —  last  night  — 
was  last  night!" 


CHAPTER   VIII 
"KATHLEEN — DO  TOTJ  BEMEMBEB  ?" 

lady  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her  dressing 
gown  had  slipped  over  the  polished  loveliness  of  her 
white  shoulders,  on  which  the  soft  dark  brown  of  her  hair 
fell  in  heavy  glistening  curls. 

She  had  sat  here  for  many  minutes,  her  thoughts  away 
in  the  past.  !N"ow  she  stirred,  she  sighed  a  little,  she  roused 
herself  and  laughed  wearily,  then  reached  out  a  white  hand 
and  took  a  ring  from  the  dressing  tahle.  A  magnificent  ring, 
one  of  immense  value,  a  ring  worthy  of  her  and  of  the  man 
who  had  put  it  on  her  finger,  yet  she  doubted  if  Allan  had 
bought  it.  It  looked  in  its  ostentatious  magnificence  more 
like  his  father,  somehow,  and  she  shivered  suddenly  and  cast 
the  ring  aside.  And  then  laughed  again  a  queer,  uncertain, 
trembling  little  laugh  that  might  have  sounded  naturally 
enough  from  the  lips  of  a  maiden  of  eighteen,  but  which  came 
a  little  oddly  f  roin.  the  lips  of  a  woman  of  twenty-eight. 

But  to-night  her  eyes  were  soft  and  misty.  To-night 
memory  was  there,  tapping  at  the  door  of  her  soul.  "You 
can't  shut  me  out,"  it  seemed  to  say,  "close  the  door,  bolt  it, 
bar  it  against  me,  but  you  can't  shut  out  memory,  you  never, 
never  can !  Fight  against  me,  but  I  am  always  here,  always 
ready  to  come  to  you — a  chance  word,  a  chance  gesture,  the 
scent  of  a  flower  or  a  perfume,  the  music  of  an  old  song  and 
though  you  think  you  have  locked  the  door  against  me,  see 
I  am  back  agairi  I  Listen,  even  the  ticking  of  the  clock — the 
little  clock  on  your  mantel.  Kathleen,  do  you  remember  how 
the  clocl$  ticked  that  night  when  you — you  and  he " 

She  threw  out  her  hands  suddenly,  she  rose,  a  tall,  queen- 
ly young  figure. 

62 


"DO  YOU  REMEMBER?"  63 

"The  past  is  past,  is  dead  and  will  remain  dead !"  she  said, 
then  she  crossed  the  room  and  very  resolutely  she  unlocked 
a  drawer,  from  the  drawer  took  a  little  steel  japanned  box, 
she  unlocked  it  and  from  it  took  a  packet  of  letters. 

Should  she  read  them  before  she  destroyed  them  ?  Should 
she?  No,  and  yet  she  hesitated — the  strength  and  resolu- 
tion of  a  moment  ago  were  gone,  she  sat  down  and  toyed  withi 
the  ribbon  that  held  the  papers  together. 

"Just  for  the  last  time,"  she  said,  "and  then  I  shall  for- 
get them  utterly!"  So  she  untied  the  ribbon  and  took  the 
letters  one  by  one  and  read  them  and  the  misty  look  in  her 
eyes  seemed  to  grow  more  soft  and  more  gentle  and  there 
came  a  sweet  womanly  tenderness  to  her  lips  that  the  world 
until  now  had  thought  a  little  hard  and  contemptuous. 

Is  there  not  some  little  packet  of  old  letters  jealously  Md-1 
den  away  in  your  possession  ?  Haven't  you  treasured  just  one 
or  two  ?  Open  the  packet  with  reverent  fingers,  touch  them 
gently,  for  here  are  holy  things ! 

A  child's  unformed  hand,  the  unsteady  letters  yet  so  neatly 
and  so  carefully  made.  Can't  you  see  him  as  he  makes  them  ? 
that  little  chubby  fist,  that  somehow  cannot  hold  the  pen  iii 
just  the  way  the  master  says  it  must  be  held. 

Can't  you  see  the  little  curly  head  leaning  a  little  to  one 
side  ?  Slowly  he  forms  the  great  round  "Os"  and  fashions 
the  long  tailed  "Ys"  and  does  his  honest  best  to  keep  them 
fair  and  square  upon  the  pencilled  line  that  even  now  you 
can  see  ruled  faintly  on  the  old  paper  ? 

A  child's  letter,  a  little  odd  glove,  a  lock  of  yellow  hair, 
his  hair!  Only  these,  but  they  bring  back  memories,  don't 
they?  Do  you  remember — ?  Ah,  can  you  forget?  When 
you  held  him  so  tightly  in  your  arms  that  day — when  he  went 
away  for  ever.  Such  a  great  strong  fellow,  so  brave,  so  con- 
fident of  the  future!  How  he  looked  into  that  future  with! 
clear  shining  eyes,  eyes  that  were  unafraid. 

"Dear,  it  is  all  right,  I  shall  come  back  to  you,  safe  and 
sound !"  So  he  said,  and  then  the  waiting,  the  agony  of  it, 


64        THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

the  long  suspense,  the  oilence,  the  hourly  prayers  to  Almighty 
God  that  all  might  he  well  with  him — and  then — then  the 
news — that  came  at  last ! 

And  all  that  you  have  now  is  the  child's  letter — the  little 
glove  and  the  curl  of  yellow  hair. 

And  there  are  other  letters,  yours,  Kathleen.  I  wonder  did 
he  think  when  he  wrote  them  ten  long  years  ago  that  you 
would  be  sitting  here  to-night  reading  them  over  yet  once 
again  ?  I  wonder,  did  he  think  that  those  letters  of  his  could 
bring  the  tears  to  your  eyes,  Kathleen  ?  Did  he  dream  when 
in  his  eagerness  and  his  passion  and  his  love  for  you,  as  he 
penned  them,  never  weighing  his  words,  only  eager  to  pour 
out  his  soul  to  you,  that  you  would  keep  them  and  cherish 
them  all  these  years,  Kathleen,  only  to  destroy  them  at  last  ? 

The  unsteady  writing  fades  and  is  gone.  Your  eyes 
through  a  mist  of  tears  see  a  young,  ardent,  boyish  face, 
you  see  eyes  that  plead  and  are  filled  with  a  hope  that  fights 
yaliantly  against  despair.  Those  hastily  scrawled,  passion- 
ate words  are  as  voices  that  come  to  you  out  of  the  past, 
.voices  that  remind  you  of  how  he  loved  you  once — when 
you  were  but  eighteen ! 

,,  There  came  from  the  little  clock  on  the  mantel  a  whirring 
sound,  then  it  struck  One — Two — She  lifted  her  head  for  a 
moment,  there  was  a  step  on  the  stairs  outside,  her  father 
come  home  from  the  Club,  he  passed  her  door. 

A  mist  was  before  her  eyes,  the  letters  were  all  blurred 
and  indistinct,  the  writing — she  could  no  longer  see,  yet  she 
knew  every  word  written  there.  How  many  times  had  she 
read  them  over  and  over  and  yet  over  again! 

And  what  need  to  read  them  when  she  knew  them  so  well  ? 
iWbuld  she  ever  forget  them?  So  many  pages,  so  closely 
written  and  yet  all  that  had  been  said,  could  have  been  said 
in  but  three  words,  three  short  words,  "I  love  you !" 
;  So  she  sat  there  with  the  letters  all  in  a  heap  in  her  lap, 
her  head  bowed. 


"DO  YOU  REMEMBER?"  65 

Memory — Memory  was  monarch  of  all  to-night.  Memory 
ruled  and  reigned  supreme. 

That  night,  do  you  remember,  Kathleen  ?  The  night  when 
the  raindrops  pattered  on  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  magnolia 
that  grew  beneath  your  window  j  Do  you  remember  how  he 
stood  there  looking  up  at  you,  the  light  from  your  lamp  on 
his  face  ?  Do  you  remember  ?  And  that  day,  the  day  you 
met  him  by  the  end  of  the  lane  and  put  your  hand  in  his  and 
went  with  him  down  the  long  road?  Do  you  remember? 
And  then  again 

She  moved  suddenly,  she  flung  her  head  back,  her  face 
was  white  and  drawn  and  there  was  agony  in  her  eyes.  She 
rose  suddenly  and  thrust  the  letters  into  the  empty  grate, 
she  bent  over  them  and  struck  a  match  and  watched  them 
burn. 

And  then,  when  the  last  was  turned  to  grey  and  black 
ash,  she  went  back  to  the  table  and  took  up  the  great  ex- 
pensive, glittering  ring,  the  ring  that  represented  more  money 
than  He  had  ever  owned.  And  so  she  turned  it  over  and  over 
between  her  white  fingers  and  laughed  suddenly.  But  the 
laughter  was  not  good  to  hear. 


CHAPTER   IX 

HOW  SIB  JOSTAH  OPENED  HIS  PTTESS 

SIR  JOSIATT  garaged  his  two  thousand  guinea  car  in 
the  old  coach  house  of  "The  Fightirfg  Cocks"  Inn.  He 
ordered  a  sumptuous  repast  in  that  antique  house  of  call,  the 
best  and  the  oldest  wines  must  be  brought  up  from  the  cel- 
lars for  him. 

A  keen  money  getter,  yet  he  was  at  heart  a  very  generous 
man.  The  respect,  the  bobbing  curtseys,  the  doffed  hats  and 
smiling  faces  here  at  Little  Stretton  delighted  him.  He 
felt  just  a  thrill  of  regret  that  he  had  bought  the  old  place 
for  Allan  rather  than  for  himself.  He  had  an  idea  that  he 
would  make  a  far  better  and  more  imposing  Lord  of  the 
Hanor  than  Allan. 

In  the  City  of  London  he  was  "somebody,"  but  here  in 
little  quiet  out  of  the  world  Little  Stretton,  he  was  "every- 
body." 

Mr.  Dalabey  fawned  on  him,  he  fetched  and  carried,  he 
was  haj;  in  hand.  A  cunning,  artful  fellow  Mr.  Dalabey, 
he  sized  Sir  Josiah  up,  he  called  him  "Squire,"  and  Sir 
Josiah  glowed  with  satisfaction. 

"A  good  feller,  that  Dalabey,  a  sensible  man!"  Sir 
Josiah  said  to  Allan,  "a  useful  feller!"  It  puzzled  the 
Baronet  that  his  son  refused  to  accompany  him  on  his  many 
trips  to  Little  Stretton  and  Homewood.  'Allan  went  once, 
and  on  that  once  he  was  moody  and  silent  While  his  father 
stamped  about  the  house  and  thrust  the  blade  of  his  pen- 
knife into  suspicious  woodwork,  Allen  held  aloof,  he  went 
out  into  the  old  garden  by  himself  and  stood  staring  at  the 
battered  nymph,  whose  slim  stone  figure  was  reflected  in  the 

66 


SIR  JOSIAH  OPENED  HIS  PURSE     67 

dark  pool.  He  sat  down  on  the  old  mossy  stone  seat  in  the 
great  circle  about  the  sundial  and  stared  at  the  weeds  and 
decay,  and  somehow  the  desolation  of  the  place  seemed  to 
creep  into  his  heart.  He  was  glad  to  get  away. 

He  loved  his  father,  he  knew  what  a  fine  old  fellow  he  was 
at  heart,  what  noble  and  generous  impulses  he  was  capable 
of.  But  to-day  his  father's  loud  self-confident  voice,  his  in- 
tense self-satisfaction,  his  huge  importance,  Dalabey's  servil- 
ity all  irked  him.  He  was  intensely  glad  to  leave  Home- 
wood  behind  him  and  thereafter  he  always  found  some  ex- 
cuse that  prevented  him  from  accompanying  Sir  Josiah  on. 
his  many  visits  to  Homewood. 

So  the  Baronet  came  and  gave  his  orders  to  Dalabey  and 
to  the  builders  and  decorators  and  the  gardeners,  and  he 
spent  money  like  water. 

"When  I  do  things,  I  don't  half  do  things,  eh  Dalabey  2" 
Sir  Josiah  enquired. 

"No,  that  you  don't,  Squire,  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Josiah !" 
said  Dalabey.  "Never  was  such  a  free  and  open  handed 
gentleman,  sir!" 

"Your  Mr.  Van  Norden  wouldn't  have  done  the  thing  in 
such  style,  eh  ?"  enquired  Sir  Josiah. 

"No,  sir,  not  to  be  thought  of,  not  for  a  moment,  Squire !" 

It  meant  thousands,  yet  what  did  thousands  matter  to  Sil 
Josiah  with  his  hundreds  of  thousands  ?  He  spent  and  spent, 
he  was  extravagant.  Before,  as  he  said  himself,  one  could 
say  "Jack  Robinson,"  he  had  an  army  of  workpeople  slaving 
at  the  place,  and  he  walked  about  the  house  and  garden  and 
saw  his  men  doing  his  work  and  drawing  his  pay,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  himself  a  really  great  man. 

And  once — once  his  forebears  had  delved  and  dug  this 
very  soil  that  was  now  his  own !  Once  for  a  few  miserable 
shillings  a  week  had  they  turned  over  the  sweet  brown  earth 
over  which  he  was  lord  and  master. 

In  Little  Stretton,  in  Homewood,  at  Bargate  and  Bush- 
corner,  and  all  the  little  villages  round  about,  there  were 


smiling  faces  and  curtseys  for  him  and  he  was  utterly  un- 
conscious that  one  pair  of  blue  eyes  grew  hard  and  bitter 
and  one  red  lipped  mouth  curled  with  contempt  and  dislike, 
that  in  one  soft  little  breast  a  usually  tender  little  heart  was 
filled  with  hate  for  him.  For  this  was  the  man  who  had 
bought  "her"  garden  and  who  was  spoiling  it,  spoiling  it 
BO  that  it  would  never,  never  again  be  as  it  had  been.  With 
•one  wave  of  his  thick  hand  he  had  banished  all  those  dear 
ghosts  of  the  past  who  had  been  her  friends,  even  more  her 
friends  than  the  honest,  red  faced  rustics  who  were  very 
much  real  flesh  and  blood,  and  who  regarded  her  with  com- 
miserating eyes  as  a  "queer"  maid. 

Oozing  satisfaction  and  gold,  Sir  Josiah  was  beloved  of 
everyone  save  of  this  unreasonable  little  maid,  who  hated  his 
jolly  round  red  face  and  loathed  the  sound  of  his  loud  and 
domineering  voice. 

"Get  some  of  them  old  trees  cut  down  and  out  of  the  way, 
Dalabey,  get  all  this  tangle  rooted  out  of  it  and  get  that  wall 
pointed,  yes  that's  what  it  wants — pointing,  make  it  look 
smart — and  Dalabey " 

"Yes,  Squire?"  " 

"How  about  some  broken  glass  along  the  top  of  the  walls  ? 
We  don't  want  people  climbing  over  and  trespassing,  Dala- 
bey!" 

"Certainly,  Squire,  broken  glass!" 

So  on  moonlight  nights  broken  glass,  securely  set  in  ce- 
ment, glittered  and  twinkled  like  a  line  of  frost  along  the 
top  of  the  walls  and  the  little  maid  looked  at  it  with  bursting 
heart  and  a  terrible  sense  of  loss. 

"Very  sullen,  not  to  say  quiet,  my  granddarter  du  be  get- 
ting," said  Mrs.  TETanson  to  Mrs.  Colley,  her  neighbour. 

"Maids  du  get  that  way,"  said  Mrs.  Colley.  "  'Tis  a  home 
of  her  own  her  be  pining  for — gone  eighteen  your  maid  be, 
Mrs.  Hanson  ?" 

"Gone  eighteen  Feb'ry  last,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson. 

"Then  time  it  is  her  was  married  and  in  a  home  of  her 


SIR  JOSIAH  OPENED  HIS  PURSE     69 

own,  with  things  to  look  after  to  keep  her  hands  and  her 
mind  full!  Marriage  be  the  right  and  proper  and  nat'ral 
thing  for  young  maids  of  her  years " 

"And  her  not  wanting  for  chances,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson; 
"why  she  hev  hut  to  hold  up  her  finger  and  there  he  a 
dozen  ready  to  run  to  she!" 

Mrs.  Colley  wagged  her  head.  "And  who  he  they?"  she 
asked  jealously,  for  she  had  a  granddaughter  of  her  own 
who  was  as  yet  unappropriated.  "There  be  Tom  Spinner, 
who  du  be  spending  his  evenings  in  the  bar  of  the  Three 
Ploughs,  and  Bob  Domer,  a  nice  ne'er-do-well  he,  and 
young  Frank  Peasgood  as  du  make  eyes  at  every  maid  he 
sees.  Why  I  did  order  him  the  door  myself  when  he  would 
have  come  a-courting  my  'Lizbeth." 

"And  there  be  Abram  Lestwick,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson,  "who 
be  a  fine  and  proper  young  man,  regular  to  Church,  one  as 
walks  in  fear  of  the  Lord  and  no  beer  drinker,  nor  smoker 
neither,  and  a  steady  worker  with  a  nice  cottage  of  his 
own,  and  standing  high  with  Farmer  Patcham.  Aye,  there 
be  Abram  Lestwick  as  would  kneel  down  and  kiss  the  very 
floor  my  maid  treads  on !" 

Mrs.  Colley  sniffed.  She  had  had  designs  on  Abram 
Lestwick  herself  for  her  'Lizbeth,  but  Abram  had  always 
stolidly  passed  her  inviting  door  by  and  never  had  be  given  a 
second  glance  to  sallow  faced,  black  haired,  shrewish  tempered 
'Lizbeth  Colley. 

"Too  mysterious  he  be  and  too  quiet  and  sullen  like,  I 
count  him,  for  a  young  man.  I  like  young  men  as  enjoys 
life,  not  such  as  walks  about  with  a  book  in  his  pocket  and 
scarce  ever  takes  his  eyes  from  the  ground.  Fair  and  square 
and  open  I  du  like  young  men  to  be,  Mrs.  Hanson,  and  as  for 
your  Abram  Lestwick,  I  give  him  to  you,  I  du !" 

"Very  gen'rous  you  be,  givin'  what  bain't  yours  to  give!" 
said  Mrs.  Hanson  with  spirit;  "and  thank  you  kindly,  I  be 
sure,  Mrs.  Colley!" 

So  they  parted,  not  the  best  of  friends,  but  into  Mrs. 


Hanson's  mind  had  come  an  image  of  Betty  settling  down 
with  Abram  Lestwick  as  her  partner,  and  that  same  evening 
she  opened  fire  on  Betty  with: 

"A  very  proper  young  man  be  Abram  Lestwick,  a  pity 
'tis  there  bain't  a  few  more  like  he !" 

Betty  made  no  answer. 

"And  very  frequent  he  du  pass  this  cottage,  whiles  round 
by  Perry's  medder  be  the  nearest  and  nighest  way  for  he." 

"Well,  what  about  Abram  Lestwick,  Grandmother?" 

"I  du  believe,  Betty,  he  hev  serious  intentions,"  said  the 
old  lady,  "and  a  nice  little  cottage,  well  furnished  and  steady 
money  coming  in,  not  less  than  thirty-five  shillings  every 
week,  as  would  make  a  maid  happy  and  comfortable." 

Betty  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  seemed 
to  dart  points  of  light. 

"What  do  'ee  mean,  Grandmother?  Be  'ee  goading  I  to 
marry  Abram  Lestwick  ?  Do  'ee  want  to  get  rid  o'  I,  is  that 
it?" 

"Bless  me,  my  maid,  what  tantrums  'ee  do  fly  into !"  cried 
the  astonished  old  body.  "Wherever  did  'ee  get  thy  temper 
from  I  don't  know,  a  peaceful  soul  thy  mother  was  and  thy 
father  being  my  own  son,  was  as  easy  a  man  as  ever  trod 
and  here  be  'ee,  my  maid,  with  a  hot  temper,  of  which  I  be 
ashamed,  and  down  on  your  knees  and  ask  God  to  forgive  'ee 
and  make  a  better  maid  of  'ee!" 

"I  shan't!"  said  Betty. 

Mrs.  Hanson  rose :  "  'Tis  the  first  time  as  ever  'ee  said 
shan't  to  me,  Betty  Hanson,  and  after  this  I  be  determined 
and  my  mind  be  made  up— marry  Abram  Lestwick  'ee  shall !" 

"No,  no!" 

"Or  out  through  that  door  do  'ee  go,  never  was  there  a 
maid  so  bad  and  so  ungrateful  as  'ee  be.  Go  to  your  room 
and  consider  of  things,  Betty  Hanson,  till  'ee  be  come  to  a 
better  frame  of  mind !" 


CHAPTER X 

CONFIDENCES 

WHEN"  Sir  Josiah  had  enquired  of  Mr.  Dalabey  how 
long  it  would  take  to  put  Homewood  into  the  order 
in  which  he  desired  to  see  it,  Mr.  Dalabey  had  scratched  his 
head. 

"Three  months,  maybe  four,  and  I  shouldn't  be  s'prised, 
seeing  how  powerful  a  lot  there  du  be  to  du,  no  I  shouldn't 
be  s'prised,  Squire,  if  it  warn't  five  months,  aye,  all  five 
months  I  should  say  it  would  be!" 

"And  now,  listen  to  me,  Dalabey,"  said  Sir  Josiah,  "two 
months  I  say,  and  not  a  minute  longer,  two  months  I  give 
you  and  if  the  last  workman  isn't  out  of  the  house  and  the 
last  bit  of  timber  and  papering  and  what  not  in  and  done 
with,  the  garden  straight  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  then  I'll  get 
someone  else  to  do  my  work  for  me,  Dalabey !" 

"Har !"  said  Dalabey. 

"And  it's  not  money  I'm  stinting  you  of,  my  man,  get 
twenty  more  men  at  work  on  the  place,  I  don't  care,  get  as 
many  as  you  can  handle,  but  two  months  is  the  time  I  give 
you  and  then  I  clear  you  all  out,  lock,  stock  and  barrel. 
So  get  busy,  Dalabey  my  man,  if  you  wish  to  remain  in  my 
good  graces." 

Dalabey  got  busy.  He  hired  more  painters  and  carpenters 
and  joiners,  more  labourers  and  gardeners,  stone  masons  and 
brick  layers  till  Homewood  was  given  over  to  a  small  in- 
dustrial army,  of  which  Dalabey  was  the  indefatigable  gen- 
eral. 

There  was  no  slacking  at  Homewood,  Dalabey  saw  to  that, 
he  was  here,  there  and  everywhere.  He  himself  was  doing 

71 


72       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

very  well,  he  had  no  cause  to  complain,  he  charged  his  own 
time  very  handsomely  and  there  were  other  pickings  be- 
sides. But  he  worked,  he  was  honest  at  least  in  that,  and 
he  made  the  others  work.  A  week  did  wonders,  a  fortnight 
shewed  an  amazing  change,  at  the  end  of  the  first  month 
Sir  Josiah  nodded  approval. 

"Getting  to  he  something  like  shipshape,  Dalabey,"  he 
said.  "And  you  got  talking  to  me  about  five  months,  here 
we  ain't  been  five  weeks  on  the  job  and  look  you " 

"You  be  right,  Squire,  and  I  were  wrong,"  said  Dalabey 
humbly. 

In  one  thing  at  least  Dalabey  was  to  be  highly  compli- 
mented. He  was  out  to  "restore"  the  old  place,  to  make  it 
look  as  nearly  like  it  had  been  in  the  time  of  the  Elmacotts 
as  possible.  He  introduced  no  newfangled  ideas  and  inno- 
vations, no  modern  improvements,  except  of  course  the  power 
plant  and  the  dynamo  and  the  huge  collection  of  storage  cells 
which  were  to  light  the  old  house  with  electricity.  Except 
for  the  electric  lighting  outfit,  the  old  house  was  to  look 
so  like  its  old  own  and  original  self  that  had  an  eighteenth 
century  Elmacott  come  to  life  and  walked  in  through  the 
hall  door,  he  would  not  have  been  in  the  least  surprised  Vy 
anything  he  saw.  • 

In  the  garden  Dalabey  had  a  very  able  lieutenant  in  old 
Markabea 

"Restore,"  said  Dalabey,  "find  out  all  the  lines  of  the  old 
beds  and  borders  and  replace  'em,  clean  up  the  stone  work, 
but  not  too  much.  You  got  to  remember,  Markabee,  as  time 
du  meller  things,  an  old  garden  this  be  and  an  old  garden  it 
hev  got  to  remain,  mark  that,  Markabee.  It  have  got  to  look 
like,  so  be  as  if  a  gentleman  in  powdered  wig  and  silk  stock- 
ings and  maybe  a  sword  at  his  side  were  to  come  strolling 
down  yon  path,  a-taking  snuff  out  of  his  box  and  walking 
with  a  lady  in  hoops,  Markabee,  and  patches  and  her  hair  all 
done  high  and  whitened,  as — as  you  wouldn't  take,  it  to  be 


CONFIDENCES  73 

the  Fifth  of  November,  Markabee,  you  get  the  hang  of  my 
meaning?" 

"I  du!"  said  Markabee,  and  he  did  his  work  well. 

Inch  by  inch  the  old  ground  was  reclaimed,  the  old  yew 
hedge  was  clipped  and  trimmed,  till  it  began  to  assume  a 
faint  suggestion  of  its  once  fanciful  shape,  the  grass  was 
scythed  and  weeded  and  patched  and  rolled  and  mowed.  The 
weeds  were  torn  up  from  the  crevices  in  the  old  pathway  of 
stone,  but  Markabee  was  artist  enough  to  leave  many  a 
flower  blooming  where  perhaps  a  flower  should  not  have  been. 

The  stonemasons  and  the  rest  would  have  pulled  down  and 
replaced  the  little  stone  nymph,  but  Dalabey  ordered  them  off 
sternly. 

"You  leave  yon  maid  alone,  her  be  in  keeping  wi'  the  old 
place,  her  be !  Too  true  some  o'  they  weeds  might  be  cleared 
off  the  pond,  Markabee,  but  there  be  a  line  beyond  which  no 
one  must  go,  so  let  the  stone  maid  bide !" 

So  the  little  nymph  was  left  in  her  old  place,  and  the  sun- 
light kissed  her  white  stone  shoulders,  and  dappled  the 
slender  little  stone  body  with  splashes  of  vivid  brightness, 
and,  little  by  little,  the  old  garden  came  back  to  its  own 
again.  The  weeds  were  all  gone  and  the  flowers  bloomed, 
and  the  June  sunshine  and  the  June  showers  made  the 
grass  green  and  pleasant  to  the  sight. 

Meanwhile  Allan  stayed  away ;  he  was  in  London  and  his 
time  was  not  unpleasantly  employed. 

He  was  too  healthy  and  too  young  to  brood  over  what  after 
all  had  been  merely  a  dream.  It  had  been  wonderfully  real 
and  wonderfully  tender  and  beautiful  while  it  had  lasted. 
He  had  come  back  to  reality  with  a  sense  of  loss  and  a  heart- 
ache for  the  little  maid  who  had  looked  at  him  with  such 
love  in  her  blue  eyes,  who  had  put  her  arms  about,  his  neck 
and  called  him  her  dear  and  kissed  his  eyes.  Very,  very 
real  it  had  been  and  for  many  a  day  and  many  a  night  he 
could  not  put  it  out  of  his  memory. 

But  this  was  to-day  and  there  was  all  the  world  about 


74       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

him  and  he  was  to  he  married  to  a  girl  who  was  beautiful 
and  good,  and  for  whom  he  felt  a  liking  and  admiration  that 
bordered  on  real  affection. 

Most  of  all  he  felt  sorry  for  her,  why  he  hardly  knew, 
sometimes  when  she  did  not  know  that  he  was  looking  at  her, 
there  was  a  sadness  about  her  eyes,  a  sad  pensive  little  droop 
to  her  lips,  which  was  gone  all  in  a  moment  if  he  spoke  to 
her. 

There  was  a  very  comfortable  understanding  between  them. 
They  were  going  to  be  man  and  wife  very  soon,  in  the  natural 
course  of  events  they  would  have  to  live  their  lives  together. 
They  were  beginning  that  life  with  mutual  regard,  liking  and 
friendship.  Love  and  passion  were  entirely  absent. 

"I  am  old,  Allan,"  Kathleen  said,  "much,  much  older  than 

you  dear,  in  every  way,  not  only  in  years,  but "  she 

paused. 

"In  suffering  and  knowledge!"  she  might  have  said,  but 
did  not. 

"You  will  never  be  old,  I  think,"  he  said,  he  took  her 
hand.  "Kathleen,  we  understand  one  another.  I — I'm  a 
clumsy  fellow,  clumsy  and  slow  of  speech.  I  belong  to  a 
different  world  from  yours!" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  am  not  going  to  apologise  for  my  people,  for  in  my 
heart  I  am  proud  of  them.  They  were  nothing  and  nobodies 
and  they  have  made  a  place  for  themselves  in  the  world — I 
love  my  father,  honour  and  respect  him,  though  I  know,  I 
know  that  you  in  your  heart  cannot  like  him." 

"Your  father  is  kind  and  generous,  mine  cynical  and 
selfish,  I  think  that  you  are  richer  in  this  matter  than  I  am, 
Allan,  but »% 

It  was  the  first  night  of  a  new  play.  London  was  still  full, 
the  season  had  not  waned,  the  new  play  was  dull  and  life- 
less, the  audience  was  yawning  consumedly.  These  two  had 
retired  to  the  back  of  the  box  which  Lord  Gowerhurst  had 
quitted  just  now  and  found  more  interest  in  discussing  their 


CONFIDENCES  75 

own  affairs  than  in  following  the  fortunes  of  the  characters 
on  the  boards. 

Kathleen  was  looking  wonderfully,  regally  beautifully  to- 
night, and  Allan  was  looking — what  he  was — an  honest,  clean 
living,  stalwart  young  Englishman,  whose  dress  clothes  sat 
well  on  his  shapely  body.  Son  of  the  people  he  might  be, 
but  he  was  not  a  man  to  feel  shame  for. 

"I  do  not  disguise  anything  from  myself,  Allan,  nor  from 
you.  I  want  to  feel  that  you  are  my  friend,  that  you  are 
the  friend  I  can  come  to  and  open  my  heart  and  speak  to 
plainly  as  I  might  to  one  who  is  truly  and  indeed  my  friend!" 

He  pressed  her  hand  by  way  of  answer. 

"I've  wanted  this  opportunity  to  speak  to  you,  it  has  come 
unexpectedly,  but  I  shall  speak  now,"  she  paused.  "Our 
marriage  was  only  a  bargain,  a  very  sordid  bargain,  and  it — 
it  hurt  Hie  at  first,  it  hurt  me  a  great  deal.  I — I  hated 
myself,  despised  myself  for  agreeing  to  it,  but  since  then, 
since  I  have  come  to  know  you  better  and  understand  you 
better,  Allan,  I  think  we  can  make  something  more  of  our 
lives  than  most  others  similarly  placed  might.  I  do  not  love 
you,  my  dear,  and  I  know  that  you  do  not  love  me — No, 
don't  speak  yet,  Allan,  let  me  say  what  I  have  to  say! 
Years  ago  there  was  someone — I  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
child  and  I  loved  him  very,  very  truly,  very  deeply.  He  was 
poor  and  so  was  I,  marriage  was  impossible.  He — went 
away,  I  have  never  seen  him  since  and  I  shall  never  see  him 
again — the  night  we  became  engaged — you  and  I — I  burned 
his  letters.  It  hurt  a  little,  Allan,  but  I  did  it,  dear,  be- 
cause I  want  to  come  to  you  without  a  secret  on  my  soul.  I 
want  to  lay  my  heart  bare  to  you.  I  want  to  look  you  in  the 
face,  to  take  your  hand,  knowing  that  I  am  keeping  n«thing 
back  from  you,  knowing  there  is  no  secret  that  might  lead  to 
bitterness  and  anger  and  perhaps  even  to  dislike.  Though 
I  feel  very,  very  old  sometimes,  Allan,  I  know  that  I  am 
young  yet ;  we  are  both  young,  there  are  many  years  before 
us  in  the  natural  course  of  events.  All  those  years  we  must 


spend  together,  so  we  will  be  truthful  and  frank  and  honest 
with  each  other  and  keeping  our  own  self-respect,  dear,  we 
shall  keep  our  respect  for  one  another." 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 

"You  are  a  good,  sweet,  woman,  Kathleen!"  he  said. 

She  laughed  a  little,  very  softly,  "And  you,  Allan,  have 
you  nothing  to  tell  me?" 

"Nothing !"  he  said,  yet  hesitated  and  smiled  to  himself. 

"I  think  there  is  something "  she  said,  "was  there 

never  even  for  a  little  while,  someone !" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "a  girl  who  called  me  her  dear,  who  looked 
at  me  with  loving  tender  blue  eyes,  who  put  her  arms  about 
my  neck  and  kissed  me " 

"Oh  Allan,  and  yet " 

"Wait!"  he  said,  he  smiled,  he  still  held  her  hand.  "To 
me  she  was  the  most  wonderful,  the  most  lovely  thing  I  ever 
saw,  I  loved  her  with  all  my  heart " 

Kathleen  would  have  drawn  her  hand  away,  gently,  yet 
have  drawn  it  away,  but  he,  smiling  down  at  her,  would  not 
let  the  little  hand  go. 

"But  she  was  not  real,  she  was  only  a  dream  maiden.  I 
never  thought  to  tell  anyone,  Kathleen,  but  will  you  listen 
to  me?" 

"Yes!" 

And  so,  still  holding  her  hand,  he  told  her. 

"That  was  a  very  wonderful  dream,  Allan,"  she  said. 

"It  was  a  very  wonderful  dream,  and  when  I  looked  about 
me  and  saw  all  the  weeds  and  the  desolation,  then  I  felt  as 
if  I  had  lost  something — as  if " 

"I  understand !"  she  said.  She  was  pensive  and  thought- 
ful. "What  can  it  mean  ?  Why  should  such  a  dream  be  sent 
to  you  ?  There  was  some  meaning  behind  it,  something — I 
wish  I  knew!" 

"It  was  only  a  dream,  and  I  am  trying  to  forget  it,  per- 
haps I  have  nearly  forgotten  it — the  sense  of  loss  is  passing 
away — not  quite " 


CONFIDENCES  77 

She  looked  at  him.  "It  will  never  quite  pass,  I  think," 
she  said.  "Allan,"  she  hesitated,  "Allan,  if — if  it  ever  be- 
came real,  if  someone  else,  someone  who  awakened  your 
heart  ever  came  into  your  life " 

"I  should  remember  that  you  are " 

"No,  no,  listen,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  something,  to 
promise  me  on  your  honour,  and  I  know  that  I  can  trust 
that — if  such  a  thing  comes  to  you,  if  the  real  love  that  may 
come  that  comes  into  nearly  every  man's  life  does  come — 
Allan,  will  you  tell  me,  frankly,  as  one  friend  to  another, 
will  you  tell  me,  dear?" 

"I  promise,"  he  said,  "and  you,  Kathleen !" 

"It — it.  came — it  can  never  come  again — I  was  only  a 
child,  but  he  was  all  my  world.  I  have,  never  seen  him 
since  and  shall  never  see  him  again " 

"But  if  you  did — then  will  you  tell  me,  will  you  be  less 
frank  with  me  than  I  with  you?" 

"No!"  she  said.  "I  will  tell  you,  I  promise,  if — but  it 
never,  never  will,  still,  if — if  it  should — then  I  promise, 
always  we  will  be  frank  with  one  another !" 

"Always!"  he  said. 

Lord  Gowerhurst  opened  the  door  of  the  box  and  closed  it 
very  softly  behind  him. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "quite  so;  you  are  wise,  the  play  is  not  the 
thing — it  is  rubbish — I  am  sorry  for  the  author,  I  am  sorry 
for  the  management,  but  as  usual  I  am  sorry  most  of  all  for 
myself.  You  two  young  people  have  something  more  in- 
teresting to  discuss.  I  don't  blame  you!  No,  hang  me,  I 
don't  blame  you !  Now  I'll  confess,  I  met  Lumeyer,  an  ex- 
cellent fellow,  one  who  knows  of  good  things,  he  put  me  on 
to  one  'The  Stelling  Reef  Gold  Mine,'  shares  bound  to  go  up. 
I've  a  good  mind  to  have  a  flutter.  By  the  way,  Allan, 
where's  your  father.  Our  worthy  and  excellent  Baronet!" 

Allan  flushed.  He  always  did  when  his  Lordship  spoke 
of  his  father.  Unintentional  it  might  be,  but  there  was  al- 
ways a  suggestion  of  a  sneer  in  the  cultivated  voice  of  the 


78       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

man  whose  pockets  were  at  this  moment  supplied  with  the 
Baronet's  money. 

"My  father  is  at  Little  Stretton  to-day  and  staying  over 
night,  he  is  very  busy  down  there  at  Homewood,  sir,  our — 
my — our  future  home — he  takes  a  great  interest  in  it  and  is 
doing  the  place  up  thoroughly !" 

"An  excellent  man,  you're  lucky  to  have  such  a  father!" 

"I  never  lose  sight  of  that  fact,  my  lord!"  Allan  said 
gravely. 

"Quite  right,  quite  right — would  to  Heaven "  his  lord- 
ship said  tragically,  "would  to  Heaven  Kathleen  could  say 
the  same !  She  can't,  she  can't,  sir,  too  deuced  honest  to  tell 
lies !  She  is  like  her  sainted  Mother !  Bless  me  this  drivel 
doesn't  seem  to  be  shaping  for  a  finish.  Supposing  we  clear 
out,  eh?  What  about  a  snack  of  supper  at  Poligninis?" 

Kathleen  rose,  "I  would  prefer  to  go  home,"  she  said,  "I 
am  tired  to-night!"  She  looked  at  Allan,  her  eyes  were  very 
bright,  very  kind  and  friendly. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  his  lordship,  "at  Poligninis  they 
have  some  eighty-seven  Heidsick,  which  I  regard  practically 
as  my  own  property.  It  is  never  offered  to  casual  customers. 
Polignini  is  an  excellent  fellow  who  appreciates  my  taste  and 
keeps  it  for  me,"  he  paused. 

"I  am  tired  and  I  shall  go  home!"  Kathleen  said  briefly. 

"I  will  see  you  home !"  Allan  said. 

His  lordship  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "So  be  it,  I  will  go 
to  my  lonely  caravanserie  and  a  frugal  meal.  I'm  an  old 
fellow,  an  old  fellow,  I  realise  that  youth  must  be  served  1" 
He  waved  a  white  hand.  "Youth,  youth !"  he  said.  "How 
lightly  we  hold  it  when  it  is  ours,  how  we  even  resent  it,  and 
how,  when  it  is  lost  to  us  forever,  do  we  worship  and  yearn 
and  long  for  it.  Oh  the  happy,  goutless  indigestionless  days 
of  our  long  since  fled  youth,  how  precious  they  were !  And 
how  ill  spent. !  Give  me  my  lost  youth  back  again,  as  I  think 
it  was  Faust,  remarked,  and  what  would  I  do  with  it  ?  I  am 
afraid,  my  dears,  I  would  do  with  it  exactly  as  I  did  with  it 


CONFIDENCES  79 

before.  We  never  learn  wisdom!  Adieu  mes  enfants,  bon 
repos,  my  Kathleen !  May  angels  guard  thee  and  bring  happy 
dreams!  Allan,  dear  lad,  good  night,  my  respectful  com- 
pliments to  the  Baronet,  an  old  man,  my  dears,  and  a  lonely ; 
I  realise  that  youth  is  impatient  of  garrulous  though  well 
intentioned  age!  Good  night  once  again!"  He  waved  his 
hand  and  the  box  door  closed  on  him,  he  was  gone. 

Kathleen  sighed  a  little,  she  looked  at  Allan  with  a  queer 
smile  on  her  lips. 

"Yes,  I  think  Allan,"  she  said,  "you  are  more  fortunate 
than  I,  and  now,  dear,  I  am  tired,  I  am  going  home — to 
bed!" 


CHAPTER 

IN  WHICH  SIB  JOSIAH  PBOVE8  HIMSELF  A  GENTLEMAlf 

ST.  GEORGE'S,  Hanover  Square,  had  always  been  at 
the  back  of  Sir  Josiah's  mind.  His  lordship  had  fa- 
voured St.  Margaret's,  Westminster.  July  was  nearly  out, 
London  was  emptying,  if  not  emptied  of  people  who  really 
count,  which  was  a  great  disappointment  to  Sir  Josiah.  But 
Homewood  was  nearly  complete,  the  old  gentleman  walked 
through  the  transformed  and  glorious  rooms,  he  looked 
through  sound  windows  into  a  garden  that  was  a  delight  to 
see  with  never  a  weed  to  mar  its  perfection.  He  took  Monta- 
gue Davenham,  the  celebrated  art  dealer,  down  with  him  to 
see  the  place. 

"There  you  are,  you  ought  to  have  seen  it  two  months  ago, 
you'd  never  believe,  a  ruin  it  was!"  said  Sir  Josiah.  "Fair- 
ly hopeless  it  looked,  said  I,  keep  to  the  old  lines!  It's  an 
old  house  and  you'vd  got  to  make  it  look  like  an  old  house, 
but  a  well  kept  one,  renew  and  restore !  If  you  take  away  a 
piece  of  old  moulding  that's  gone  rotten,  put  back  a  new 
piece  shaped  the  same,  nothing  new,  that  was  my  instructions, 
and  they  have  carried  'em  out,  and  now  the  rest's  up  to  you, 
Mr.  Davenham.  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  I  don't  know. 
But  I  do  know  this,  that  if  you  were  to  put  say  bamboo  furni- 
ture and  Japanese  fans  and  umbrellas  in  this  here  old  room 
with  that  ceiling  and  them  panelled  walls,  why  they'd  be 
out  of  place,  you  wouldn't  go  and  make  a  mistake  like  that ! 
I've  got  money,  I  don't  deny,  and  this  house  has  been  a  bit 
of  a  hobby  with  me.  I  want  to  see  it  looking  like  it  should 
look,  so  just  take  a  look  round,  make  up  your  mind  and  put 
the  right  stuff  into  it  I" 

80 


SIR  JOSIAH  A  GENTLEMAN         81 

"My  dear  sir,  if  every  rich  man  were  as  wise  as  you,  the 
world  would  certainly  look  a  great  deal  more  pleasant  than 
it  does.  The  house  will  form  an  admirable  setting  for  fur- 
nishings of  the  right  period.  I  compliment  yon  on  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  work  has  been  done.  I  couldn't  have  done 
it  better  myself,  the  garden  in  particular  is  delightful, 
simply  delightful!" 

"Markabee  here,  done  it,  under  Dalabey,  a  useful  man. 
Dalabey,  I  don't  know  what  I'd  done  without  him,  but  it's 
ready  for  you  now.  Mr.  Davenham,  get  ahead,  get  the  place 
fixed  up  as  it  should  be,  the  right  furniture,  the  right  decora- 
tions. Keep  the  price  reasonable,  I  don't  say  stint,  nor  I 
don't  say  launch  out  too  wildly.  I  leave  it  to  you !" 

"It  is  a  commission  that  I  accept  with  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure.  I  think  and  hope  that  I  shall  please  you  and  at  a 
not  too  terrible  expenditure !" 

"Get  ahead  with  it!"  Sir  Josiah  said. 

"Fine  feller  Davenham!"  he  said  to  Allan.  "Knows  his 
business;  one  thing  you'll  have  a  house  that  you  needn't 
be  ashamed  to  shew  to  anyone,  a  fit  setting,  my  boy,  a  fit 
setting  for  a  very  sweet  and  lovely  young  lady,  blesa  her 
heart,  and  a  lucky  fellow  you  are!" 

"To  have  such  a  father!"  Allan  said,  in  all  honest  sincer- 
ity. 

"Bless  you,  bless  you,  it's  been  a  pleasure,  I  don't  know 
when  I've  put  myself  heart  and  soul  into  a  thing  like  I've 
done  into  this !  I'm  almost  sorry  I've  put  it  in  Davenham's 
hands  now,  but  then  he  knows  what's  right  and  I  don't 
Now  about  the  wedding,  Allan!  His  lordship  and  me  was 
talking  last  night.  Something  about  St.  Margaret's,  West- 
minster, he  said.  'I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord,'  I  said.  'St. 
Georges,  Hanover  Square,  if  you  don't  mind.  I've  set  my 
heart  on  it,  Allan ;  I  always  had  an  idea  I'd  like  you  to  be 
married  at  Hanover  Square ;  there's  something  solid  about  the 
very  name  of  it,  right  down  respectable !"  he  paused.  "Then, 


for  the  reception  afterwards,  I'm  for  taking  the  Whitehall 
Rooms  at " 

"Father,  I  want  to  speak  to  you !"  Allan  said.  "I — I  hate 
to  disappoint  you,  but  in  this  matter  I  think  the  first  per- 
son to  be  considered  is  Kathleen !" 

"Bless  me,  and  so  it  is !    What  she  says  goes !" 

"She  wishes  the  wedding  to  be  very  quiet,  very  quiet  in- 
deed; she  wants  only  our  own  selves  there,  my  father  and 
hers  and  no  one  besides !" 

"Why — why,  bless  me,  bless  my  soul!  You  don't  mean 
to  say "  Sir  Josiah's  face  was  almost  pitiful. 

"She  asked  me  last  night,  she  begged  me  to  side  with  her 
and  uphold  her  wishes  and  I  promised.  I — I  know,  father, 
it's  a  disappointment  to  you,  but  we  can't  go  against  her, 
can  we?" 

"No,  no,  we  can't  go  against  her,  that's  right,  right  enough, 
no  we  can't  go  against  her — never  think  of  such  a  thing,  I 
wouldn't,  but  I'd  a  thought  that  a  young  girl  with  all  her 
friends  would  have  liked " 

"It  cannot  be  too  quiet  for  her !  And  I  promised  to  speak 
to  you  about  it.  Her  father  is  very  angry,  unnecessarily 
angry,  he  spoke  to  her  sharply,  almost  rudely  in  my  presence 

last  night,  in  a  way "  Allan  paused,  "that  my  father 

would  not  have  spoken  to  a  woman !"  he  added  proudly. 

Sir  Josiah  gripped  Allan's  hand.  "You — you're  right,  the 
little  girl  shall  have  her  way,  tell  her;  give  her  my  love, 
Allan,  and  tell  her  what  she  says  goes.  As  for  his  Lordship, 
his  Lordship  can — can  go  to  the  Dickens " 

Allan  smiled.  "I  think  his  Lordship  has  been  making  for 
that  quarter  all  his  life!" 

It  was  a  bitter  blow  to  the  Baronet,  but  he  took  it  like  a 
man.  He  had  counted  on  a  gorgeous  spectacle,  for  which  he 
had  been  very  willing  to  find  the  money.  He  had  counted 
on  portraits  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom  and  bridegroom's 
father,  to  say  nothing  of  the  bride's  father  in  the  fashionable 
illustrated  papers,  as  well  as  the  daily  illustrated  press.  He 


SIR  JOSIAH  A  GENTLEMAN         83 

had  cut  out  paragraphs  from  the  Times  and  the  Morning 
Post. 

"A  marriage  has  been  arranged  between  Mr.  Allan  Home- 
wood,  only  son  of  Sir  Josiah  Homewood,  Bart.,  of  Home- 
wood,  Sussex,  and  the  Lady  Kathleen  Nora  Stanwys,  only 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Gowerhurst." 

He  had  cut  out  these  news  items  and  carried  them  about 
with  him  and  shewn  them  to  Jobson  and  Cuttlewell  and 
Smith  and  Priestly  (of  Priestly,  Nicholson  and  Coombe), 
and  others  of  his  City  cronies.  How  proud  he  had  been  of 
them,  how  he  had  beamed  and  swelled  with  pride !  He  had 
hinted  that  he  might  ask — might  possibly — ask  Priestley  and 
the  rest  to  witness  the  ceremony.  It  had  not  been  an  actual 
promise,  but  next  door  to  it,  made  by  him  in  a  moment  of 
joyous  enthusiasm  following  a  good  lunch  and  a  bottle  of 
excellent  port. 

And  now  the  marriage  was  to  be  a  small  quiet  affair,  it 
was  a  blow,  but  he  took  it  like  a  man !  He  sought  out  Kath- 
leen, he  took  her  hand  and  held  it  in  his  moist  palm. 

"My  dear,  Allan's  told  me,  he  says  you're  all  for  a  quiet 
wedding;  well  I  did  reckon  on  something  a  bit  slap  up  and 
stylish  and  like  that,  but  if  you're  set  on  a  quiet  wedding, 
my  dear " 

"I  am,  I  want  it  very  much,  Allan  understands,"  she  said. 

"Then,  bless  you,  my  dear,  BO  it  shall  be,  as  quiet  as  you 
like!  It's  for  you  to  say,  what  you  say  goes  with  me, 
Allan  told  you,  that's  right — why  tears — my  dear?  Tears! 
Bless  me,  my  lady,  my  dear,  don't  cry !" 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,  now  I  understand  why  Allan  is 
— is  what  he  is,  the  fine  man  he  is!  He  is  like  his  father!" 

"Like — like  me — bless  my  soul,  Allan  like  me,  my  love! 
My  lady  I  mean — I'm  a  common  old  chap !  Allan's  a  gentle- 
man, I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  do  my  best  for  him  and  I  done 
xt — I'm  what  I  am,  my  King,  God  bless  him,  saw  fit  to  make  a 


84       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Sir"  of  me,  but  that  don't  make  a  gentleman  of  me,  my 
dear,  and  I  know  it !" 

"I  am  going  to  be  frank  with  you,  truthful,"  Kathleen 
said.  "I  am  going  to — to  hurt  you  perhaps,  and  then  I  am 
going  to  try  and  make  amends  for  it — "  She  paused.  "When 
my  father  first  spoke  of  my  marriage,  my  marriage  with 
Allan,  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  it — not  because  of 
Allan,  but  because  of  you !" 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  said  sadly.  "I  ain't  everyone's 
money,  but " 

"No,  listen,  I  looked  down  on  you.  I  thought  you  were 
vulgar  and  purseproud  and  boastful,  and,  oh,  I  thought  a 
thousand  evil  things  of  you  and  pretended  to  shudder  when 
your  name  was  mentioned!" 

"My  dear,  I  know,  I  know ;  don't  tell  me  more — I  know !" 

"But  I  am  going  to  tell  you  more,  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
this !"  She  caught  his  hand  and  held  it  "It  isn't  what  you 
have  given  and  what  you  are  giving  us,  it  isn't  money — 
oh  you  know  that,  don't  you  ?  I  was  wrong,  wrong  all  the 
time!  I  know  you  better  now  and  I  like  and  respect  you 
and  I  envy  Allan  his  father — yes,  envy  him  his  father  and 
so  I  have  told  him  and — please  kiss  me  because  I  am  going 
to  be  your  daughter,  aren't  I  ?  And  because  I  want  you  to 
like  me  and  be  my  friend !" 

"God  bless  me!"  he  said.  "God  bless  my — oh,  my  lady, 
my,  my  dear —  Kiss  you  ?  I'd  be  proud  and  happy !" 

She  laughed  a  little,  she  held  up  her  face,  there  were  tears 
on  her  lashes.  "Then  kiss  me,  Allan's  father !"  she  said. 

My  Lord  had  counted  on  an  expensive  and  fashionable 
wedding,  even  more  than  Sir  Josiah  had.  He  had  specially 
ordered  a  frock  *coat  of  a  peculiar  and  delicate  shade  of 
grey,  which  would  become  him  handsomely.  That  he  would 
easily  outshine  everyone  present  he  knew  with  certainty. 
He  would  give  his  daughter  away,  everyone  would  remark 
on  his  appearance,  the  exquisite  sensibility  that  would  mark 
his  every  action.  They  would  not  compare  him  with  the 


SIR  JOSIAH  A  GENTLEMAN         85 

Baronet,  it  was  no  question  of  comparison.  People  would 
see  with  their  own  eyes  how  immeasurably  superior  he  was 
to  Sir  Josiah. 

That  the  limelight  would  be  mainly  on  himself,  His  Lord- 
ship had  decided.  He  had  even  rehearsed  the  part  he  would 
play.  He  would  be  the  tender,  loving  father,  heart-broken 
and  bereaved  at  losing  his  darling  child,  and  yet  he  would 
bear  up  bravely,  carry  himself  proudly,  with  a  touch  of 
tender  gaiety.  His  speech  at  the  reception  he  had  written 
and  re-written — and  now  he  was  in  a  furious  passion, 
shaking  with  rage,  he  sought  out  Kathleen  and  swore 
viciously  at  her. 

"What  devil's  tomfoolery  is  this?"  he  shouted.  "What 
new  pose  have  we  here?  What's  this  confounded  rotten, 
absurd  business  about  a  twopenny  ha'penny  housemaid's 
wedding,  hey?  Haven't  I  asked,  unofficially  of  course,  but 
asked  all  the  same  a  hundred  people?  Haven't  Bellendon 
and  the  Cathcarts  and — and  George  Royhills  and  his  wife 
practically  delayed  their  departure  from  Town  for  this  wed- 
ding, and  now — now  what  rotten  nonsense  have  you  got  in 
your  head  now,  hey  ?" 

She  eyed  him  steadily.  "Please  don't  swear  at  me, 
father  ?"  she  said.  "There  is  no  meed.  I  asked  Allan " 

"Asked  Allan,  hang  and  confound  Allan!  Ain't  I  any- 
one? Don't  I  count?  I'm  only  your  father!  Haven't  I 
planned  this  for  you,  haven't  I  cherished  the  idea  of  making 

you  a  rich  woman,  haven't  I ?"  He  paused,  floundering 

wildly  in  his  fury. 

"I  asked  Allan  to  humor  me,  I  wanted  a  very  quiet  wed- 
ding, he  was  quite  willing,  as  eager  as  I  almost.  He  spoke 
to  his  father  and  his  father  has  agreed " 

"His  father!  that  confounded  old  City  shark,  that  com- 
mon, vulgar  old  brute,  who — who " 

"Whom  you  are  very  pleased  and  glad  to  take  money 
from,  who  has  treated  me  with  every  kindness  and  respect 
and  gave  way  at  once  to  my  wishes,  though  they  were  opposed 


86       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

to  his  own.  Yes,  a  common  old  man,  but  generous  and  kind 
and  good  and — and  I  could  wish,  I  could  wish  that  my 
father  was  as  fine  a  gentleman !"  And  with  a  stately  curtsey, 
she  left  him. 

"Well,   I'll  be  damned!"   His  Lordship  said  in  utter 
amazement. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  HANDS  OF  ABEAM  LESTWIOK 

YOU'VE  got  my  wishes,  Abram,  you  have!"  said  Mrs. 
Hanson. 

He  nodded.    "I  know,"  he  said  gloomily. 

Abram  Lestwick  was  of  that  curious,  foreign  type  that 
one  comes  on  unexpectedly  in  our  English  country  villages. 
He  was  about  thirty-two  years  of  age,  five  feet  nine  in  height 
and  of  a  strong  wiry  build.  His  complexion  was  swarthy,  the 
skin  sallow  and  drawn  with  a  strange  suggestion  of  tight- 
ness, over  the  high  and  prominent  cheek  bones.  The  eyes 
were  small,  black  and  very  bright  and  deeply  set  beneath 
heavy  brows.  No  razor  had  ever  touched  the  lower  part  of 
his  face,  which  was  covered  with  a  thin  and  straggling 
growth  of  coarse  black  hair,  that  could  scarcely  be  described 
as  a  "beard,"  for  so  thinly  and  far  apart  did  the  hairs  grow 
that  the  contour  of  a  weak  chin  was  clearly  visible. 

The  whole  appearance  of  the  man  suggested  nervous  un- 
quiet and  restlessness,  which  particularly  found  expression 
in  the  constant  agitation  of  his  hands.  He  had  a  restless, 
nervous  habit  of  fingering  things  within  his  reach. 

At  this  moment  he  was  sitting  on  the  one  "easy"  chair 
at  Mrs.  Hanson's  little  parlour.  He  had  dragged  down  the 
antimacassar  that  usually  adorned  the  chair  back  and  was 
plucking  at  the  threads  and  rolling  the  edge  of  it  into  a 
tight  curl.  Mrs.  Hanson  watched  his  face ;  she  did  not  look 
at  his  hands.  There  was  something  hateful  about  Abram 
Lestwick's  hands,  the  fingers  were  long,  flexible  and  thin, 
save  at  the  ends,  where  they  suddenly  thickened  out  and 
flattened  in  a  strange,  unsightly  manner.  But  it  was  their 

87 


88       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

restlessness,  their  never  ceasing  movement  that  was  so  re- 
markable. Never  for  a  moment  were  they  still. 

Mrs.  Hanson,  favouring  the  young  man,  yet  knew  she 
hated  his  hands! 

"I  feel,  I  du,"  she  said  to  herself,  "as  I  want  to  scream 
if  I  set  and  watch  them,  but  I  du  know  he  be  a  good  man 
and  a  hard  worker,  with  no  love  for  the  alehouse  and  reg'lar 
to  Church  and  like  to  make  Betty  a  good  husband,  and  after 
all,  what  du-  a  man's  hands  matter  ?  So  be  as  he  du  work 
with  them  and  earn  his  living  honourable  and  upright  in  the 
state  of  life  which  it  du  please  God  to  call  him!" 

"I've  got  your  wishes,  I  hev,"  he  said,  "I  know  that,  but 
what  be  the  use  of  your  wishes  to  me,  Mrs.  Hanson,  so  I 
haven't  got  Betty's  liking?" 

"You  musn't  take  too  much  notice  of  the  maid ;  maids  be 
strange  and  fickle  things,  aye  and  vain  they  be!  The  man 
as  praises  a  maid  to  her  face  and  tells  her  she  be  nice  looking 
be  the  one  as  goes  best  with  they !" 

"What  do  'ee  want  I  to  do?"  he  said  sullenly.  "I  know 
there  beain't  a  maid  to  compare  wi'  Betty,  there  beain't  one 
as  be  fit  to  tie  her  shoes !'  A  dull  red  crept  into  his  cheeks, 
his  voice  shook,  his  fingers  worked  more  nervously  and  more 
rapidly  at  the  destruction  of  the  antimacassar. 

"Slow  of  speech  I  be,"  he  said  thickly,  "and  difficult  it  du 
be  for  me  to  find  words — there  be  a  thousand  things  I  would 
say  to  she — they  be  here  all  in  my  brain,  but  my  tongue 
won't  utter  them !  I — I  try — "  he  paused,  choking,  "I  try, 
I  look  at  she  dumblike  and  stupid  and  knowing  it,  aye,  curse 
it,  knowing  it!"  His  voice  rose,  he  wrenched  at  the  anti- 
macassar, he  tore  a  piece  away ;  his  fingers  were  hideous  to 
see  at  this  moment  and  Mrs.  Hanson  looked  resolutely  at 
his  face.  Yet  she  was  all  the  time  conscious  of  the  havoc 
his  fingers  were  making. 

"Do  'ee  think  I  don't  want  to  tell  she?  I  du!  I  du,  I 
try  to,  but  my  tongue  won't  do  me  sarvice.  I  love  her!" 
He  paused.  "I  love  her!"  He  said  it  again.  "Love  her, 


THE  HANDS  OF  ABRAM  LESTWICK    89 

I  mean  to  tell  her,  yet  like  as  not  her*!!  laugh  at  me!"  He 
stood  up,  he  flung  the  antimacassar  to  the  floor,  his  hands 
worked  up  and  down  his  coat,  tearing  and  fingering  at  the 
buttons  and  the  buttonholes. 

"There  hain't  a  maid  in  all  the  world  like  she,  not  a  man 
fit  to  kiss  the  grounds  she  treads  on.  If  a  man,  a  man  in 
this  village  did  look  at  she  wi'  harmful  eyes,  I'd  kill  him!" 
He  nodded.  "Kill  him!"  He  said.  "I'd  get  my  hands 
on  his  throat  and  never  let  go!  Sometimes  when  I  think 
of  her  I  feel  that  I  be  going  mad  like,  T  see  red — red  passion 
before  my  eyes.  I  tell  'ee,  Mrs.  Hanson,  ma'am,  I've  got 
your  wishes,  I  know,  I  know!  But  I  must  hev  that  maid; 
no  one  else  shall,  as  God  hears  me,  no  one  else  shall !" 

He  went  to  the  door,  swinging  his  arms  violently,  his 
fingers  clenched  and  unclenching. 

"I've  got  your  wishes,  I  hev,  I'm  glad  of  them,  ma'am. 
I  thank  'ee,  I  du — your  good  wishes,  Ma'am,  and  I  be 
obliged  greatly,  I  be — and — please  don't  mind  my  tempers! 
'Tis  thinking  of  the  maid  makes  me  so;  a  peaceful  man  I 
be,  and  begging  your  pardon,  Ma'am,  that  I  did  forget  my- 
self, but  'tis  thinking  of  the  maid  that — that  drives  me  like 
you  see  me,  Ma'am!  But  I  beg  your  pardon  I  du,  most 
politely !" 

He  was  gone  and  Mrs.  Hanson  sighed  and  stooped  and 
picked  up  from  the  ground  the  work  of  her  own  busy  fingers 
— and  his !  She  sighed  again,  looking  at  the  destruction  of  it. 

"A  terribul  man  he  be — in  his  wrath,  fit  to  kill  anyone 
belike!"  she  said.  "All  tore  it  be,  all  tore  and  wrenched 
and  broke  apart — powerful  fingers  he  must  hev !  Ill  would 
it  go  wi'  man  or  maid  that  angered  he  and  did  him  hurt !" 

Down  the  road  in  a  tempest  of  passion  went  Abram  Lest- 
wick,  swinging  his  arms  and  muttering  to  himself  like  a 
madman,  and  yet  at  Farmer  Patehams,  where  he  worked, 
they  counted  him  as  a  man  of  an  even  and  equable  temper. 
A  foreman,  he  never  cursed  and  swore  at  those  under  him. 
Little  things  moved  him  not;  his  grim,  glum,  gloomy  face 


90       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

never  darkened  with  rage.  A  polite  tongue  he  had,  though 
a  slow  one,  a  steady  man  and  quiet,  and  yet  he  himself  knew 
of  the  tempest  of  unbridled  passion,  the  mad  tumult  that 
his  brain  was  capable  of. 

Rarely  did  his  passions  master  him  before  others.  They 
had  to-night,  before  Mrs.  Hanson,  but  he  had  her  wishes, 
he  was  safe  with  her. 

"If  any  man  did  look  at  she  wi*  wishful  eyes/'  he  re- 
peated, "by  God's  Heaven  I  would  kill  him!"  He  clenched 
at  the  air  with  his  nervously  working  hands,  "Get  my  hands 
on  his  throat  and  kill  him,  grip  and  crush  it  till  the  life  were 
gone  out  o'  he,  I  would !" 

He  stopped  suddenly,  bathed  in  perspiration,  but  the  fury 
gone.  She  stood  before  him  in  the  gloaming  of  the  evening. 

"I  be  come  from  your  house,  Betty,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
was  mild  as,  a  voice  may  ba  "A  pleasant  half  hour  I  did 
have  along  wi'  your  grandmother,  Betty !" 

"I  hope  'ee  enjoyed  yourself,  Abram,"  she  said  with  a 
little  contemptuous  laugh. 

"Aye,  I  did  in  a  way,  for  I  were  talking  about  'ee,  Betty !" 

She  frowned. 

"Betty!"  He  felt  as  if  he  were  suddenly  choking,  he 
lifted  those  working,  restless  hands  of  his  to  his  own  throat. 
They  made  as  to  tear  open  his  shirt,  so  that  he  might  breathe 
the  more  freely. 

"Betty,  do  'ee  know  what  I  and  your  grandmother  were 
talking  about?" 

"I  doan't  and  I  bain't  curus  to  hear !"  she  said.  She  made 
to  pass  him,  but  he  held  his  ground. 

"'Twere  about  'ee!" 

"Then  'twere1  nothing  good,"  she  said.  "My  left  ear  were 
burning  cruel  and  now  I  know!" 

"Betty,"  he  said,  "wait,  'ee  shall,  'ee  shall  I  say,  wait, 
there's  summut  I  must  say  to  'ee!" 

"Let  me — pass!" 

"No,  no."    He  caught  her  by  the  arm  and  held  her. 


THE  HANDS  OF  ABRAM  LESTWICK    91 

"Betty,  I  du  love  'ee  so,  I  want  'ee  to  wife!  If  I  don't 
have  'ee  no  one  else  shall,  no  one,  I  swear!  Look  at  me, 
stubborn  o'  tongue  I  be — and  difficult  it  be  for  me  to  speak 
the  words  I  want  to  say,  but  'tis  all  in  this :  'I  love  'ee  better 
than  life,  better  than  death.  I  love  'ee  mad;  mad  I  be,  I 
tell  'ee  wi'  love  for  'ee !  My  maid,  I'd  die  for  'ee  and  live 
for  'ee  and  kill  they  as  come  between  us!  Betty,  Betty, 
give  yourself  to  me — to — cherish — "  He  paused,  the  words 
of  the  marriage  service  came  to  him  uncertainly,  "to  hold  and 
to  keep,  to  cherish  until  death  us  du  part.  Give  yourself  to 
me,  for  never  and  you  go  through  the  whole  world  will  'ee 
find  a  man  as  loves  'ee  half  so  well !" 

"I  bain't  a  marrying  maid!"  she  said.  "And  I'll  not 
marry  'ee  or  anyone  else  and  'ee  last  and  leastest  of  all, 
Abram  Lestwick.  I'll  never  marry  'ee,  never,  never!" 

"And  I  swear  by  Heaven  'ee  shall !"  he  cried.  His  fingers 
were  at  work  on  her  arm,  she  felt  and  hated  the  touch  of 
them.  Hateful  fingers — long  and  sinuous,  with  their  hor- 
rible, spatulated  tips,  they  reminded  her  of  writhing  snakes, 
with  their  venomous,  flattened  heads,  just  that!  She  tried 
to  break  away  from  him. 

"A  great  coward  'ee  be,  to  so  beset  a  maid.  I  hate  'ee, 
I  du.  Let  me  be,  let  me  be !" 

"I'll  never  let  'ee  be,  for  I  du  love  'ee  mad,  mad,"  he  cried, 
"and  'ee  shall  never  belong  to  anyone  else,  never  and " 

And  then  she  broke  from  him,  she  lifted  her  strong  young 
arm  and  smote  him  across  the  face  with  all  her  strength. 
Abram  Lestwick  fell  back  apace,  his  sallow  skin  went  deathly 
white,  he  stood  and  stared  at  her. 

"  'Ee,  'ee  made  me  du  it !"  she  panted.  "I — I  had  to  du 
it,  Abram,  I  didn't  mean  it,  I  be  sorry  in  my  heart,  I  did 
strike  'ee !" 

But  he  said  nothing,  he  only  looked  at  her,  then  without 
a  word  turned  and  walked  away  down  the  road  and  she 
stood  looking  after  him.  Even  now  she  could  see  the  rest- 
less, nervous  working  of  his  hands. 


"I  hate — hate  and  I  be  af eared  o'  him  tu !"  she  said.  "I 
be  terribul  af  eared  o'  him!"  She  broke  down,  sobbing  and 
crying.  "  'Tisn't  fair  as  a  maid  should  be  so  bothered  as 
I  be!  I  don't  want  to  marry  anyone,  leastest  of  all  he,  for 
I  du  hate  him  most  mortally,  I  du !" 

Her  grandmother  was  waiting  for  her. 

"Did  'ee  see  Abram  Lestwick  down  the  road  ?"  she  asked. 

"Aye,  I  did  see  him !" 

"Well?" 

"Well?" 

"Didn't  he  speak  to  'ee,  tell  'ee  his  mind  ?" 

"Yes,  he  did  and — and  I  hate  him !" 

"Hate?"  said  Mrs.  Hanson.  "Still  filled  wi'  hate,  'ee  be, 
which  bain't  seemly  in  a  young  maid !  What  wi'  your  hating 
first  this  one  and  then  t'other,  fair  fed  up  I  be  wi'  your 
hates,  my  maid,  and  'tis  time  to  put  a  stop  to  all  such  non- 
sense !  Abram  Lestwick  hev  been  wi'  me  to-night  and  talk- 
ing wi'  me  he  hev  been,  and  about  you — moreover.  And  he 
be  willing  to  marry  'ee  and  a  good  match  it'll  be,  my  maid, 
which  Mrs.  Colley  have  been  angling  for  for  that  putty-faced 
'Lizbeth  o'  hers,  though  Abram  would  never  look  twice  at 
she.  But  'tis  you  he  be  after,  an  upright,  godly  young  man 
with  thirty-five  shillings  a  week  and  a  cottage  and  all,  and 
a  rare  chance  for  the  likes  of  'ee,  Betty  Hanson,  wi'out  a 
shillin'  to  your  name !" 

"I  hate  him  and  I'll  never,  never  marry  him ;  I  hate  him 
and  am  af  eared  of  him  as  well !  And  sooner  than  marry  he 
I'd  go  and  drownd  myself  in  the  river,  aye,  that  I  would, 
and  that  I  will,  for  marry  him  I  never  will !" 

"That's  what  'ee  say,  but  hark  to  me,  marry  him  I  say  'ee 
shall  and  I  have  told  him,  he  has  my  wishes !" 

A  defiant  white  face,  with  big  glittering  eyes  faced  the 
wrinkled,  angry  old  face. 

"Drownd  myself  I  will  gladly  and  willingly  afore  I  marry 
he!" 

"Go  'ee  in!"  said  Mrs.  Hanson.     "A  perilous  bad  maid 


THE  HANDS  OF  ABRAM  LESTWICK    93 

'ee  be  and  'shamed  of  'ee  I  be,  and  asking  myself  I  be  all 
the  time — Be  this  my  son  Garge's  child,  or  be  she  a  change- 
ling? For  such  temper  no  Hanson  ever  did  hev  yet — Go 
'ee  in,  but  mark  this,  marry  him  'ee  shall !" 

"Mark  this!"  Betty  cried.  "Marry  him  I  never  will! 
I'll  drownd  myself  first!  Aye  and  blithely  and  gaily — for 
I  du  hate  and  fear  him  more  than  any  mortal  man  and 
they  fingers  o'  his  that  touched  me — ugh !  That  touched  me 
and — "  And  then  suddenly  she  broke  down  in  a  passion  of 
sobs  and  ran  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XTEI 

THE  HOMECOMING 

SIR  JOSIAH  was  performing  his  last  friendly  offices. 
Davenham  had  finished  his  part  of  the  work  and  had 
done  it,  as  the  Baronet  knew  he  would,  with  a  complete  and 
thorough  knowledge  and  good  taste. 

Who,  to  look  about  one  now,  seeing  those  beautiful  rooms 
with  their  exquisite  furnishing,  that  garden,  a  thing  of  de- 
light and  perfect  beauty,  could  reconcile  it  all  with  the 
desolate  and  derelict  wilderness  of  a  place  it  had  been  three 
short  months  before? 

"I'd  like  that  there  Van  JSTorden,  or  whatever  his  name  is, 
to  see  it,  I  would !"  Sir  Josiah  thought.  "Hang  me,  I'd  like 
him  to  take  a  stroll  around  now !  Them  Americans  are 
smart  and  wonderful  skilful,  aye,  and  what's  more  a  fine 
nat'ral  taste  they've  got,  appreciating  fine  things  and  old 
things  more  than  we  do !  I  say  all  that  and  admit  all  that, 
but  this  here  Van  Norden,  he  couldn't  have  beat  what  I've 
done  in  the  time,  he  couldn't!  He'd  own  it,  too,  for  I've 
yet  to  meet  the  American  who  wasn't  frank  to  admit  the 
truth!" 

Sir  Josiah  here  was  like  a  small  king  in  great  state.  He 
was  to  interview  potential  servants,  advertisements  appeared 
in  the  London  and  the  local  papers,  inviting  cooks  and  house- 
maids, parlourmaids,  footmen,  grooms,  scullery  maids,  still 
room  maids  and  the  like  to  present  themselves  at  Homewood 
Manor  on  a  certain  day,  when  all  their  expenses  would  be 
paid  by  Sir  Josiah  Homewood,  who  would  engage  the  most 
suitable  persons.  His  own  man  Bletsoe  was  here  to  do 
honour  to  the  occasion. 

94 


THE  HOMECOMING  95 

"How  many  are  there,  Bletsoe  ?" 

"Nine  young  women,  three  old  ones,  two  fellers  and  an 
old  man  as  come  about  the  gardener's  place,  only  I  under- 
stand as  you're  keeping  that  old  feller,  old  Markahee,  Sir 
Josiah!" 

"That's  right,  keeping  him  on  I  am,  a  sensible  man  and 
clever  at  his  work,  that  garden's  a  credit  to  him !  Old  very 
likely,  but  I've  known  men  as  weren't  old,  yet  fools,  Bletsoe !" 

"Quite  so,  sir!"  said  Bletsoe.  "And  now  about  h'inter- 
viewing  'em  ?" 

Sir  Josiah  frowned  to  hide  his  nervousness. 

"How  many  old  ones  did  you  say,  Bletsoe  ?" 

"Three,  sir,  and  one  of  'em  with  a  wonderful  fine 
moustache  as  I  ever  see !" 

"There's  the  money,  take  it  and  settle  with  them,  mark 
where  they  come  from  and  look  up  the  fares  in  the  A.  B.  C., 
Bletsoe,  to  see  they  don't  cheat  you,  then  give  'em  five  shill- 
ings over  and  above.  But  pay  'em  their  fares  right  and 
correct,  not  a  penny  more  nor  less,  and  Bletsoe,  when  I  say — 
ahem !  like  that,  you'll  know  as  that  one's  no  good,  you  see !" 

It  was  hard  work  and  none  too  pleasant,  but  the  house  had 
to  be  staffed.  Allan  and  Lady  Kathleen  were  married,  they 
were  spending  a  brief  honeymoon  on  the  East  Coast;  they 
would  be  back  here  soon  to  take  possession  and  Allan's  father 
was  resolved  that  when  they  came  they  would  find  every- 
thing complete.  Had  not  he  himself  pried  in  the  store  cup- 
boards, which  Messrs.  Whiteley  had  obligingly  stocked  at 
his  request?  He  had  satisfied  himself  that  everything  nec- 
essary was  there,  everything,  that  is,  of  an  unperishable 
nature. 

Salt  and  tea,  sugar  and  pepper.  He  had  been  greatly  dis- 
turbed in  his  mind  when  he  found  that  washing  soda  had  been 
overlooked  and  he  had  ordered  a  hundredweight  forthwith. 
And  now  he  was  engaging  servants. 

"I  am  Sir  Josiah  Homewood,  this  house  belongs  to  my 
son,  Mr.  Allan  Homewood,  at  present  away  on  his  honey- 


96       THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

moon  with  his  wife,  the  Lady  Kathleen  Homewood,  daughter 
to  the  Earl  of  Gowerhurst.  They  are  returning  in  a  week 
and  I  desire  to  have  everything  in  readiness  for  them.  What 
might  your  age  be  and  what  are  your  references  and  who 
were  you  with  last  ?  And  why  did  you  leave  your  last  place  ?" 

"Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  my  age,  I  respectfully  beg 
to  say,  I  don't  see  hasn't  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  As 
for  my  references,  here  they  are.  I've  lived  in  a  Duke's 
family  and  there's  but  little  I  don't  know  how  to  cook,  even 
to  peacocks,  I  have  cooked,  sir,  and " 

"Bless  my  soul,  I  didn't  know  people  eat  'em!"  said  the 
Baronet 

"Only  the  best  of  the  quality,  sir !" 

"Bless  me,  very  well,  hum,  hah !"  He  looked  through  the 
references,  he  made  notes  on  a  piece  of  paper.  "Please  settle 
with  this  lady,  Bletsoe,  and  give  her,  her  out  of  pockets  as 
according  to  arrangement — a — hem!" 

And  so  the  fate  of  the  lady  with  the  moustache  was  sealed, 
though  she  knew  it  not. 

Betty  had  heard  of  this  reception  that  Sir  Josiah  was 
holding  to-day.  Girls  from  Little  Stretton,  Bush  Corner, 
and  even  from  Gadsover  and  Lindney,  had  come  to  offer 
themselves  for  hiring.  Betty  hesitated,  since  that  evening 
when  she  had  defied  her  Grandmother  life  had  not  been  very 
happy  at  Mrs.  Hanson's  little  cottage.  Should  she  go  with 
the  rest  and  offer  herself  for  service  in  the  house?  But 
could  she  bear  it,  could  she  bear  to  see  her  own  beloved 
garden  again  as  it  was  now,  not  as  she  remembered  it  ?  All 
the  dear  trees  cut  down,  or  most  of  them,  and  hideous  new 
walls  put  up,  a»nd  her  little  stone  friend  gone  from  the  lake 
and  a  great  ugly  stone  fountain  erected  in  her  place,  for  so 
she  had  heard.  Could  she  bear  to  see  it  all  as  it  was  now  ? 

No,  she  could  not,  so  she  hesitated.  The  other  girls  went 
and  were  engaged  or  not,  as  Sir  Josiah  decided,  but  Betty 
did  not  offer  herself. 


THE  HOMECOMING  97 

For  three  days  after  that  night  when  she  had  struck  Abram 
Lestwick  in  the  face,  she  did  not  see  him,  but  on  the  evening 
of  the  fourth  day  he  presented  himself  at  the  door  of  her 
grandmother's  cottage. 

He  said  nothing  of  that  last  interview.  His  manner  was 
nervous  and  hesitating  and  without  passion,  his  fingers 
worked  incessantly,  toying  and  tearing  at  everything  within 
his  reach.  He  sat  upright  on  a  horsehair-covered  chair, 
and  tore  little  hairs  out  of  the  cloth  all  the  evening.  At  a 
quarter  to  ten  he  rose  and  took  his  hat. 

"I'll  be  wishing  you  good  night,  Mrs.  Hanson,  ma'am!" 
he  said. 

"Good  night,  Abram,  and  always  glad  to  see  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Hanson  heartily. 

"I  thank  you,  Ma'am,  good  night,  Betty !"  he  said. 

"Go  to  the  door,  my  maid,  and  see  Abram  off  the  step," 
said  her  grandmother. 

Betty  hesitated,  then  went,  with  her  red-lipped  mouth 
firmly  compressed. 

On  the  step  in  the  summer  darkness  Abram  found  his 
tongue. 

"Well  ?"  he  said.    "When  is  it  to  be  ?" 

"When  be,  what  to  be?" 

"Our  wedding?" 

"Didn't  I  tell'ee?" 

"Aye,  but  'ee  didn't  mean  it,  besides  I  hev  made  up  my 
mind ;  when  is  it  to  be  ?" 

"Never!"  she  said.    "Never,  never!" 

He  laughed  softly  to  himself  as  she  closed  the  door  in  his 
face,  but  to-night  there  was  no  passion,  no  tempest  within 
him.  He  laughed  again  as  he  walked  down  the  road  in  the 
velvety  blackness. 

There  were  lights  in  the  Old  Manor  House,  unfamiliar 
sight !  He  did  not  ever  remember  seeing  lights  there  before 
and  strange  lights  they  were,  very  bright  and  brilliant,  and 


BO  many  of  them.  He  stood  still  in  the  road  and  stared  at 
the  house. 

Presently  the  little  arched  green  door  in  the  wall  opened 
and  a  woman  scuttled  out,  carrying  a  bundle  suspiciously. 

"Who  be  that?  Law!  How  'ee  did  frighten  me!"  she 
panted  a  little  with  nervousness;  perhaps  that  bundle  had 
no  right  to  be  in  her  arms.  "Be  it  you,  Abram  Lestwick  ?" 
she  asked,  peering  into  the  darkness. 

"Aye!"  he  said  briefly.  "It  be  me  all  right,  Mother 
Colley.  What  be  'ee  doing  here  to-night  ?" 

"  'Tis  the  young  new  Squire,  the  old  man's  son,  come  home 
wi'  his  lady  wife.  I  see  her  for  a  minute,  Abram,  and  a 
prettier  creature  I  never  set  eyes  on,  so  kind  and  smiling 
her  looks,  too,  and  so  mighty  fond  they  du  seem  to  be  of 
one  another,  arm  in  arm  they  was  walking.  'Father,'  he 
were  saying  when  I  see  him,  'Father  have  done  wonders  here, 
Kathleen!  You  did  ought  to  have  seen  the  place  no  more 
than  four  months  ago.  Father  have  worked  wonderful,  ter- 
ribul  hard  for  we!'  he  said." 

"Ah!"  said  Abram. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Colley,  nodding  her  head,  "and  she  won- 
derful sweet  and  dainty  her  looked,  I  tell  'ee,  Abram — 
'Wonderful  kind  and  good  he  be,  Allan,'  she  says.  And, 
Abram,  why  don't  'ee  ever  come  in  for  a  kindly  cup  o'  tea 
to  our  cottage  ?  My  maid  'Lizbeth  continooally  du  ask  me ! 
A  clever  maid  her  be  wi'  her  fingers  and  a  worker  she,  not 
like  someone  as  I  could  name,  some  as  bain't  too  right  in 
their  mind !" 

"Who?" 

"I  mention  no  names,  Abram,  only  I  say  there  be  a  kindly 
welcome  and  a*cup  set  for  'ee  whenever  'ee  do  take  the  fancy 
and  now  I  must  be  getting  along.  A  wonderful  place  they 
hev  made  o'  it,  and  oh !  the  money  it  hev  cost !  It  fair  sets 
me  wondering  how  there  ever  du  be  so  much  money  in  the 
world!" 

"And  if,"  Abram.  thought,  "all  the  money  in  the  world 


THE  HOMECOMING  99 

were  mine,  I  would  lay  it  at  Betty's  feet !"  So  he  went  on 
his  way,  for  the  man  who  rises  at  four  in  the  morning  must 
to  bed  betimes. 


Allan  had  been  in  no  hurry  for  the  honeymoon  to  end. 
Every  day  of  their  companionship  added  to  his  liking  and 
respect  for  Kathleen.  Now  that  she  was  away  from  her 
father,  now  that  she  had  shaken  herself  free  from  the  old 
environment,  she  seemed  to  be  a  different  woman.  Her 
laughter  was  more  spontaneous;  the  sadness,  for  which  in 
his  heart  he  had  pitied  her,  was  going,  if  not  gone  from  her 
eyes.  She  was  a  charming  companion,  her  good  temper  and 
entire  unselfishness  were  never  failing.  What  more  could 
a  man  ask  ? 

He  had  rather  dreaded  the  honeymoon,  and  now  had  come 
to  realise  that  it  formed  the  most  pleasant  period  of  his  life. 
But  now  that  it  had  come  to  its  end,  he  felt  a  strange  reluc- 
tance to  go  to  Homewood. 

He  was  young  and  healthy  minded;  for  such  a  man  to 
brood  over  a  dream  or  a  vision  was  impossible.  The  effect 
of  that  May  day  dream  of  his  had  well  nigh  worn  away,  the 
vision  of  the  girl  who  had  come  to  him  in  the  old  garden 
and  kissed  him  had  grown  vague  and  shadowy.  Like  most 
visions,  it  was  slowly  passing  and  presently,  unless  some- 
thing happened  to  revive  it,  it  would  pass  into  oblivion 
altogether. 

But  this  return  to  Homewood  would  and  must  revive  it 
and  bring  back  that  day  and  all  that  had  happened  on  that 
day  forcibly  to  mind  once  more. 

And  he  asked  himself,  did  he  wish  to  be  reminded  ?  Was 
he  not  well  enough  content  with  life  as  it  was?  He  was 
married  to  a  girl  for  whom  he  felt  a  great  liking,  a  growing 
affection,  and  a  respect,  a  woman  whom  he  realised  was  the 
sweetest  and  best  woman  he  had  ever  known. 


100      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

It  was  not  her  beauty  alone  that  attracted  him,  yet  he 
could  scarcely  repress  a  thrill  of  pride  of  possession  that 
comes  to  many  men  when  they  realise  the  envy  of  others 
and  see  the  looks  of  admiration  which  were  no  more  than 
Kathleen's  well  deserved  tribute. 

So  the  honeymoon  had  been  a  very  pleasant  and  happy 
time.  They  were  frank  with  one  another,  the  best  of  friends. 
They  kissed  one  another  with  a  quiet,  undemonstrative  affec- 
tion that  was  not  feigned.  There  had  not  been  one  breath 
to  mar  the  perfect  serenity  of  their  lives.  No  foolish  trumpery 
quarrel,  but  always  that  complete  understanding  and  good 
faith  that  willingness  to  give  and  take  unselfishly. 

Are  honeymoons  always  such  a  success?  When  the  pas- 
sionate lovers  are  united  at  last  and  drive  away  radiant  and 
triumphant,  amidst  a  shower  of  rice  and  good  wishes,  who 
can  tell  what  pitfalls  her  pretty  little  feet  may  trip  into, 
what  obstacles  he  may  go  stumbling  and  floundering  over? 
They  believed  that  they  knew  and  understood  one  another 
so  well,  all  unconsciously  perhaps  they  have  kept  up  many 
pretences,  have  only  permitted  one  another  to  see  the  brighter 
side. 

But  there  is  always  the  other  and  darker  side,  Romeo's 
temper  the  first,  thing  in  the  morning  may  not  be  everything 
that  is  desirable.  When  Juliet  finds  that  one  of  her  dresses 
does  not  fit  her  quite  so  well  as  it  might,  she  must  vent  her 
annoyance  on  someone — and  there  is  only  Romeo! 

The  good  ship  of  matrimony  has  scarcely  weighed  anchor 
and  set  sail  and  the  Captain  and  the  Mate  have  yet  to  learn 
one  another's  characters,  perhaps  they  have  even  to  decide 
who  the  Captain  and  who  the  Mate.  There  are  many  little 
things  to  arrange,  little  difficulties  to  adjust.  Happy  they 
who  can  do  it  all,  with  kindness  and  good  temper,  willing 
to  give  freely  and  yet  not  asking  for  too  much ! 

It  was  in  the  dusk  of  the  late  July  evening  that  Allan 
and  Kathleen  came  to  Homewood. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  Sir  Josiah's  reign,  and  never  a 


THE  HOMECOMING  101 

sovereign  gave  up  his  sceptre  with  better  grace.  How  lie 
beamed,  how  he  swelled  with  visible  pride,  how  he  dragged 
them  from  room  to  room  to  see  this  and  to  see  that! 

"There  you  are,  my  boy,  what  do  you  think  of  it? 
Wouldn't  know  the  place,  would  you?  You'd  'a  fallen 
through  this  floor  three  months  ago;  look  at  it  now!"  And 
the  old  gentleman  jumped  up  and  down  to  prove  the  sound- 
ness of  the  joists  and  boards. 

"Well,  my  dear,  and  what  do  you  think  of  it?  Pretty, 
ain't  it?  Davenham  didn't  let  me  down,  there's  nothing 
like  going  to  the  right  man !  Davenham  ain't  cheap,  but — " 
He  caught  himself  up,  this  was  no  time  to  talk  of  money 
and  money  matters.  He  had  spent  freely  and  willingly. 
Perhaps  never  before  in  his  life  had  he  spent  quite  so  freely, 
quite  so  willingly.  There  was  a  heavy  bill  to  meet,  but 
what  of  that  ?  He  could  meet  it ! 

He  had  picked  up  a  good  deal  from  careful  observations 
and  from  listening  to  Davenham's  learned  talk.  The  names 
Hepplewhite  and  Adam,  Sheraton  and  Chippendale  tripped 
glibly  from  his  tongue.  True,  he  confused  Hepplewhite  and 
Adam,  but  what  did  that  matter  ?  Allan  and  Kathleen  did 
not  mind,  perhaps  did  not  know,  and  the  old  fellow  was 
happy  and  smiling,  though  there  was  just  a  little  ache  at 
his  heart,  for  to-morrow  his  work  would  be  done,  to-morrow 
he  would  pack  his  traps,  order  the  car,  tip  the  servants  and 
say  good-bye.  His  reign  would  be  ended!  The  villagers 
would  give  him  their  bobs  and  their  smiles  and  perhaps  a 
cheer,  Dalabey  would  come  from  his  shop  and  grovel  for  a 
moment  as  he  passed  and  then — then  life  would  of  a  sudden 
become  strangely  empty,  strangely  without  aim  and  object. 

"Can  almost  see  'em,  can't  you,  Allan,  my  boy,  those  old 
Elmacotte ;  the  place  must  have  looked  very  like  this  in  their 
time.  Lord,  it's  a  pity  we've  got  into  the  way  of  dressing 
so  plain  and  starchy  like  we  do  now!  But  bless  my  soul! 
What  would  I  look  like  in  a  flowered  waistcoat  and  powdered 
wig  and  silk  stockings,  eh  I  Ha,  ha,  ha !  And  how  well  she's 


102      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

looking,  how  pretty  she  is,  prettier'n  ever,  Allan,  and  what 
a  lucky  fellow  you  are !" 

"The  luckiest  in  the  world  and  the  happiest  I  think, 
father !"  Allan  said  very  soberly. 

The  old  man  nodded,  "That's  right,  that's  right,  that's 
what  I  hoped  to  hear.  Now,  take  her  and  shev*  her  round. 
It's  a  pity  it's  gone  so  dark,  so  you  can't  see  the  gardens 
to-night.  I  tell  you,  Allan,  the  gardens  are  even  better  than 
the  house.  You  keep  on  that  old  Markabee,  he  knows  his 
job  and  you  won't  get  no  better  man  for  thirty-seven  and  six 
a  week,  cottage  found!" 

In  the  dawn  of  the  summer  morning  Allan  wakened,  his 
sleep  had  been  strangely  disturbed.  He  had  dreamed,  yet 
now  he  was  awake  the  dreams  were  all  vague,  half  forgotten 
and  meaningless.  He  rose  and  went  to  the  open  window  and 
looked  out  into  the  garden. 

He  saw  it  as  he  had  seen  it  that  day  in  May,  in  his  dream, 
all  trim  and  fair,  the  weeds  and  the  desolation  gone,  the 
flower  beds  all  gay  and  bright  with  bloom,  the  lawns — and 
how  old  Markabee  and  his  men  had  worked  on  these  lawns ! 
shaved  and  rolled  and  weeded. 

And  though  remembering  it  as  he  had  seen  it,  with  the 
desolation  of  years  over  it  all,  it  all  looked  unfamiliar  to 
him  now  and  yet  wonderfully,  strangely  familiar. 

Then  suddenly  there  came  to  him  with  a  sense  of  shock 
and  anxiety  a  question.  What  of  the  little  stone  nymph  who 
had  stood  there  in  the  midst  of  the  pool?  Had  they  torn 
her  from  her  pedestal  and  banished  her  from  the  place  she 
had  held  for  centuries  ?  Why  had  he  never  spoken  of  her  ? 
Why  had  he  never  asked  that  she  might  be  protected  ?  Why — 
why  above  all  Mid  he  care  ?  What  had  become  of  a  little 
stone  image  with  a  broken  arm  and  a  battered  vase,  and  the 
slender  little  stone  body  all  stained  green  ? 

But  he  did  care,  and  he  wanted  to  know  what  her  fate 
was.  He  turned  back  into  the  room  and  saw  his  wife  sleep- 
ing there.  The  sunlight  slanted  in  through  the  uncurtained 


THE  HOMECOMING  103 

window  and  touched  her  face,  and  he  stood  looking  at  her. 

Sleeping,  she  seemed,  in  spite  of  her  eight  and  twenty 
years,  to  be  such  a  child.  There  was  a  smile  on  her  lips,  her 
face  was  pillowed  on  one  white  bare  arm,  her  hair  fell  about 
her  on  the  pillow. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  lifted  one  heavy  lock  and 
held  it  lightly,  letting  it  slip  softly  through  his  fingers  till 
it  fell  to  the  pillow  again. 

And,  watching  her  as  she  slept,  he  wondered  why  his  heart 
did  not  throb,  why  a  great  passionate  love  for  her  did  not 
come — yet  it  did  not ! 

He  dressed  and  went  out  into  the  garden.  He  was  early, 
early  even  for  old  Markabee,  from  whose  little  cottage  even 
now  the  smoke  was  curling,  thin  and  blue,  into  the  morning 
air. 

In  spite  of  the  panic  of  anxiety  of  a  while  ago,  he  had 
forgotten  the  little  stone  maid.  The  enchantment  of  the 
garden  was  on  him,  his  feet  trod  the  stone  pathway,  his  hands 
were  behind  his  back,  his  head  bent  a  little  forward,  yet  he 
saw  everything,  the  trim,  carefully  laid  out  beds,  the  green 
grass,  the  foxglove  and  the  hollyhock  thrusting  their  way  to 
life  and  air  and  sun  through  the  crevices  in  the  old  stone 
path.  So  he  stepped  aside  to  avoid  tramping  on  their  love- 
liness, yet  wondered  why  they  should  be  there. 

Was  it  right?  What  would  my  Lady  say?  And  he? 
Was  not  he  dallying  here  when  he  should  be  at,  his  work  ? 

What  thoughts!  What  strange  jumble  of  thoughts  was 
this? 

Hoe  and  rake,  he  must  get  them  from  the  shed ;  the  shed 
there  behind  the  old  red  wall.  So  he  turned  and  came  to 
the  place  and  found  no  shed,  then  started  and  came  back  to 
life  again  and  frowned  at  himself  for  his  folly. 

Was  there  some  enchantment  that  brooded  over  the  place, 
something  that  held  him  in  its  grip  when  his  feet  trod  the 
soil  of  this  old  garden  ? 

"Dreams!"  he  said  aloud,  and  again,  "Dreams!"     And 


104      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

then  laughed  at  himself  and  turned  back  to  the  broad  stone 
pathway,  then  suddenly  remembered  the  object  of  his  quest, 
and  hurried  on  to  the  lake. 

She  was  there,  untouched!  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  re- 
lief, a  sense  of  gladness — yet  why?  What  did  it  matter? 
What  would  it  have  mattered  had  they  pulled  her  down  and 
carried  her  away  and  used  her  to  mend  some  country  road 
with  and  placed  some  fine  marble  fountain  with  basin  all 
complete  in  her  place  ?  Yet  it  did  matter  and  he  knew  that 
it  did! 

He  turned,  conscious  of  a  relief  and  yet  wondering  at  it 
and  went  back  along  the  path  to  where  was  the  great  circle 
in  the  middle  of  which  stood  the  sundial,  and  he  noticed 
that  some  artificer  had  replaced  the  long  lost  gnomon,  so 
that  once  again  the  shadow  might  fall  and  tell  the  passing 
of  the  hours. 

And  there  was  the  seat  on  which  he  had  sat  that  day. 
Then  it  had  been  half  lost  in  a  maze  of  tangle  and  growth. 
Now  it  had  been  cleaned  and  even  mended  a  little,  the  moss 
and  green  growth  removed. 

Allan  sat  down,  as  he  had  sat  down  that  day ;  he  laid  his 
arm  along  the  back  of  the  stone  seat,  just  as  then,  and  as 
then  presently,  -the  reality  about  him  grew  faint  and  un- 
certain, and  he  drifted  into  a  light  sleep.  But  in  that  sleep 
no  dreams  came,  no  vision  of  a  little  figure  tripping  down  the 
stone  pathway,  no  dainty  little  figure  in  her  flowered  gown, 
with  mob  cap  on  her  shining  head.  Instead  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  looked  into  the  face  of  an  ancient  man,  who  pulled 
a  scanty  lock  of  hair  at  him  and  wished  him  "Good  marn- 
ing!"  in  purest  Sussex. 

"Good  morning  to  you,"  said  Allan  and  wondered  for  a 
moment  who  the  old  man  might  be,  then  it  dawned  on  him. 

"A  wunnerful  and  powerful  difference  be  here,"  said  the 
old  man,  "which  you  will  hev  noticed,  so  be  as  you  hev 
seen  the  place  before!" 

"I  have  seen  it  before,  three  months  ago,  and  as  you  say 


THE  HOMECOMING  105 

a  wonderful  difference  is  here,"  said  Allan,  "and  you 
are " 

"Markabee  be  my  name,"  the  old  man  said,  "gardener  I 
were  at  Lord  Reldewood's  place,  near  Smarden  in  Kent, 
though  I  be  Sussex  born  and  bred." 

There  was  interrogation  in  his  still,  bright  eyes. 

"My  name  is  Homewood,  Allan  Homewood!" 

"Then  you  be  the  young  master,  the  old  master  be  a  proper 
fine  man  and  a  thorough  gentleman!" 

Allan  laughed.  "I  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  say  the 
same  of  me,  though  I  warn  you,  Markabee,  I  am  not  such 
a  fine  man  nor  so  good  a  gentleman  as  my  father !" 

"That  may  be,  that  may  be !"  said  Markabee.  "One  finds 
out,  one  does,  for  one's  self.  But  I  be  one  as  speaks  as  I 
du  find  and  I  say  the  old  gentleman  be  a  proper  fine  man, 
free  handed  moreover  and  pleasant  of  speech ! 

"Very  late  in  the  season,  it  were,"  Markabee  went  on. 
"May,  pretty  nigh  out,  when  I  du  come  to  this  garden. 
Powerful  difficult  it  were  to  make  much  of  a  show,  as  I  did 
say  to  Mr.  Dalabey.  'Never  mind,'  says  he,  'du  your  bestest, 
Markabee,  for  you  be  working  for  a  proper  fine  gentleman 
who  don't  mind  a  little  bit  of  extry  money  here  and  there, 
so  be  he  gets  what  he  du  want !' ' 

Allan  nodded.  Not  for  all  the  world  would  he  hurt  the 
old  fellow's  feelings,  but  he  could  wish  old  Markabee  safely 
off  to  his  work  in  the  garden,  leaving  him  here  to  his  dreams 
in  the  sunshine. 

But  not  so  Markabee.  For  he  was  old  and  had  seen  many 
things  and  many  gardens;  old  and  garrulous  was  he  and 
eager  above  all  to  make  a  good  impression  on  the  young 
master ! 

"Things  I  hev  seen  and  changes,"  he  said,  "you  wouldn't 
believe,  and  now — how  old  might  you  take  me  to  be,  eh, 
young  sir?  What  aged  man  would  you  say  I  were?"  He 
pulled  himself  up  erect  as  a  grenadier,  and  his  bright  old 


106      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

eyes  twinkled,  while  the  long  whisps  of  white  hair  fell  about 
his  copper  coloured  face. 

"Now,  sir,  make  a  guess,  how  old  might  'ee  take  me  to 
be,  eh?" 

"I  should  say — "  said  Allan  cautiously,  "that  you  might 
be  sixty-five !" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  that  be  a  good  'un,  sixty-five — ha,  ha !"  He 
laughed  till  his  voice  cracked  and  he  nearly  choked.  "Two 
and  eighty  years  hev  I  seen,  two  and  eighty  wi'  never  a  lie, 
and  look  at  me,  fit  for  a  long  day's  work  I  be  with  the  best 
and  youngest  on  'em !  Ask  anyone  here,  young  sir,  ask  what 
sort  of  worker  be  old  Markabee,  ask  'em  to  satisfy  yourself, 
sir !  Yes,  two  and  eighty  summers  and  winters  hev  I  seen — 
sixty-five — ha,  ha,  ha!  Sixty-five!"  And,  chuckling  with 
laughter,  he  saluted,  drew  his  old  body  erect  and  went 
marching  off  down  the  garden  with  a  jaunty  air,  and  yet  in 
his  heart  a  little  quavering  wonder  and  anxious  fear. 

"I  wonder,  du  he  think  I  be  too  old  ?" 

If  spell  there  had  been,  old  Markabee  had  broken  it.  So 
though  he  might  sit  here  on  the  old  stone  seat,  no  drowsiness 
came  to  him  now.  He  watched  a  bee,  a  great  velvety  bumble 
bee,  with  its  lustrous  black  and  tan  body  hurrying,  full  of 
business,  from  flower  to  flower.  The  sun  was  low  yet,  and 
cast  slanting  shadows  all  softly  blue  on  the  stone  pathway. 
The  dew  glinted  and  glistened  in  the  cups  of  the  flowers  and 
in  the  heart  of  the  starry  green  leaves  of  the  lupins.  He 
looked  along  the  broad  straight  pathway  to  the  house  and 
saw  it,  so  strangely  like  he  had  seen  it  that  day,  the  windows 
open,  the  dimity  curtains  moving  lightly  in  the  soft  breeze. 
And  now  came  a  maid  servant,  but  no  mob  cap  and  flowered 
gown  wore  she,  and  her  hair  was  black  and  her  eyes  sleepy, 
nor  did  she  trip  daintily,  but  shuffled  in  sluggard  fashion  and 
let  down  the  new  sun  blinds  outside  the  windows  with  a 
rasping,  creaking  sound  of  iron  on  iron. 

No  dreams  for  him  this  day,  nor  did  he  want  them  ?  Why 
seek  them,  invite  them?  For  dreams  would  but  bring  him 


THE  HOMECOMING  107 

again  to  dissatisfaction  and  would  set  him  yearning  and 
longing  and  even  hoping  for  that  which  could  never,  never 
come  true.  Allan  rose  and  seemed  to  shake  himself,  though 
he  shook  himself  more  mentally  than  physically,  to  lighten 
himself  of  these  fancies,  which  were  idle  and  foolish  and 
which  he  must  not  encourage  nor  harbour. 

He  smiled  to  himself  as  he  set  off  for  a  ramhle  ahout  the 
garden,  for  he  saw  what  he  must  do.  He  must  prove  to  old 
Markabee  and  to  all  the  rest  that  he  was  a  man  worthy  of 
being  his  father's  son. 

"A  proper  fine  man  he  be  and  a  thorough  gentleman," 
old  Markabee  had  said,  and  so  he  was.  God  bless  him  for 
a  fine  gentleman ! 

And  then  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  for  he  had  wandered 
far  in  ic  a  part  of  the  garden  where  he  had  never  been  before 
and  where  even  old  Markabee  and  his  merry  men  had  not 
yet  penetrated,  he  came  on  a  little  stream  that  flowed 
rapidly  and  clearly  between  high  banks  of  thick  green 
growth  and  at  one  place  was  a  deep  pool  where  the  water 
swirled  and  eddied,  obstructed  for  the  moment  in  its  course 
by  an  abrupt  turn  in  the  winding  of  the  stream.  About  him 
were  the  trees  and  the  greenery,  an  impenetrable  leafy  screen 
and  the  silence ;  but  for  the  birds  there  was  nothing  to  inter- 
rupt the  solitude  of  the  place.  So  off  with  his  clothes  and 
then  a  header  into  the  cool  green  water  for  a  brisk  swim. 
Here,  under  the  shade  of  the  trees,  the  water  ran  cold  and 
its  coldness  sent  the  blood  leaping  and  throbbing  through  his 
veins. 

A  few  minutes  and  he  was  out,  glowing,  dripping,  a  young 
giant  in  his  health  end  strength.  IsTow  he  had  put  his  clothes 
on  caring  nothing  that  his  skin  was  wet  beneath  them. 

Back  through  the  garden  and  the  sunshine  he  strode — 
dreams,  what  idle  things  were  dreams!  Only  a  fool  or  a 
poet  might  sit  there  on  that  old  old  stone  seat  trying  to  con- 
jure up  visions  of  a  long  dead  past.  His  body  was  in  a 
glow,  he  was  conscious  of  a  great  and  voracious  appetite. 


108      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

He  saw  the  girl  who  had  pulled  the  sun  blinds  down  and 
called  to  her. 

"What's  your  name  ?"  he  said.  "Mary  or  Peggy,  or  Molly, 
eh  ?"  he  smiled  at  her. 

"Ann  is  my  name,  sir !"  she  said.    "Ann !" 

"You're  not  Sussex?" 

She  tossed  her  head.  "Not  me,  thank  yon,  sir,  I  come 
from  the  Fulham  Road !" 

"Then,  Ann,  where  you  come  from  does  not  matter,  but 
if  you  love  me,  get  me  a  cup  of  tea  and — and — well  any- 
thing— a  good  big  hunk  of  bread  and  butter  will  do,  but  see 
that  it  is  big  and  that  there  is  plenty  of  butter  on  it  and  I'll 
wait  here  till  you  come  back,  Ann !" 

"What  a  very  strange  young  gent,"  the  girl  thought  "If 
I  love  him  indeed!  There's  a  nice  way  of  talking!"  She 
tossed  her  head,  yet  went  off  to  get  the  tea  and  the  bread 
and  butter. 

"If  I  love  him  indeed,  well  of  all  the  impudence  1" 


"HIS  SON'S  WIFE" 


WELL,  well,  my  boy,  what  do  you  think  of  it  all? 
How  do  you  think  the  garden  looks  ?" 

"Wonderful!"   ' 

"Wonderful,  yes,  that  old  Markabee's  a  treasure;  you 
won't  part  with  him,  Allan  ?" 

"Nothing  would  induce  me  to,  father.  I  hope  he'll  stay 
here  another  twenty  years  at  least!" 

"That'll  make  him  a  hundred  and  two,  the  old  man  is 
very  proud  of  his  age,  eighty  something!" 

"Eighty-two  and  seems  a  mere  boy !"  Allan  went  to  his 
father  and  put  his  arms  about  the  old  man's  shoulders. 

"I — I'm  not  going  to  try  and  thank  you!"  he  said. 

"Don't,  there's  nothing  to  thank  me  for!  I — I  did  it — I 
enjoyed  doing  it,  never  enjoyed  anything  so  much  in  my  life, 
put  myself  into  it  heart  and  soul.  I'd  like  Cutler,  you  know 
Cutler,  his  daughter  married  the  Governor  of  somewhere 
or  other — I'd  like  him  to  see  this  place !" 

"Then  why  not?" 

"Bless  me — so  I  may — one  day —  I  might  bring  him 
down,  but,  Allan,  I'm  not  going  to  interfere  with  you,  not 
me !  Two's  company,  three's  none !  I  know  that !  And — 
good  morning,  my  dear,  and  I  don't  need  to  ask  how  you 
slept!  As  fresh  as  a  rose  you  look  this  morning,  as  fresh 
and  as  handsome  too !" 

And  she  did,  her  cheeks  were  glowing,  her  eyes  were 
bright.  Fresh  from  her  cold  bath,  she  was  a  picture  of  glow- 
ing health  and  beauty.  She  went  to  him  and  put  her  hands 
on  his  shoulders  and  kissed  him. 

109 


110     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"And  now  I  want  to  know  what  is  the  meaning  of  those 
horrible  looking  bags  and  portmanteaux  and  things  I  saw 
on  the  landing  ?" 

"Why — why  bless  me — they  are  mine — I — I  didn't  mean 
to  leave  'em  about,  my  dear.  I'd  never  have  forgiven  myself 
if  you'd  tripped  and  fallen  over  them,  but " 

"I  don't  mean  that ;  what  I  want  to  know  is :  Why  are  they 
packed  ?" 

"Because — because  there's  my  things  in  'em  and  I'm  off 
for  London.  Bletsoe's  got  his  orders  and  after  breakfast 
I'll  start " 

"But  supposing  I  don't  mean  to  let  you  go  ?" 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,  thank  you  and  God  bless  you !  I — 
I  know  what  you  mean,  but  thank  you,  my  dear,  all  the 
same !  I — I  like  to  think  that  you're  not  in  a  hurry  to  push 
the  old  fellow  out!  I'll  be  glad  to  remember  that!"  His 
eyes  shone.  "Yes,  my  love,  I'll  be  glad  to  remember  that, 
but " 

"How  are  we  going  to  manage  without  you?"  she  asked. 
"You  have  been  so  clever,  it's  all  so  wonderful  what  you 
have  done  here.  Allan  told  me  what  a  terrible,  terrible  state 
the  place  was  in  and  how  like  a  fairy,  a  good  fairy,  you  have 
touched  it  with  your  wand  and  it — is  like  it  is  now!  And 
we  can't  let  our  fairy  go,  can  we?" 

"But  he'll  come  back,  my  love,  he'll  come  back!"  The 
old  man  cried  happily.  "But  you  and  Allan  have  got  to 
settle  down  and  I — I  know  what  it  is,  my  dear,  when  Allan's 
mother  and  me  were  married,  settling  down  is  a  bit  difficult — 
I  think  you  and  Allan  are  best  left  to  yourselves,  and  then 
when  you  want  me,  why  I'll  come,  I'll  come,  you  won't  have 
to  ask  twice.  You  ought  to  have  the  telephone  on — "  he 
paused,  took  out  his  pocketbook  and  made  a  rapid  note, 
"arrange  telephone,  Homewood,"  then  you'll  be  able  to  ring 
me  up  and  I'll  be  able  to  ring  you  up — now  and  again,  not 
that  I  want  to  be  a  nuisance  or  a  worry  to  you — but — but — 
what's  that  ?  What's  that  ?  Breakfast,  eh  ?" 


"HIS  SON'S  WIFE"  111 

"Yes,  sir,  breakfast!"  said  the  manservant. 

Over  breakfast  they  discussed  an  idea  that  had  come  to 
Kathleen. 

"We  must  have  a  house  warming,"  she  said,  "you  know 
the  old  superstition,  there'll  be  no  luck  about  the  house 
unless  we  have  a  warming!" 

"To  be  sure !"  said  Sir  Josiah,  a  little  puzzled,  "but  I  had 
the  fires  lighted  and  kep'  going  for  weeks  and " 

"I  know!"  she  laughed.  "But  I  mean  a  party,  a  house 
party,  just  a  few  of  our  nearest  and  dearest.  You,  of  course, 
first  and  before  all  and  my — "  she  hesitated,  "my  father, 
of  course,  and  then  you  will  have  one  or  two  of  your  own 
friends,  Sir  Josiah,  won't  you  ?  Friends  of  yours  you  might 
like  to  bring  down  ?" 

His  eyes  shone.  "Cutler!"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to  bring 
him,  take  the  shine  out  of  him,  it  will  too.  I'm  fed  up  with 
Her  Excellency,  the  Governor's  wife,  that's  Cutler's  daugh- 
ter. Why,  my  love,  it'll  stifle  him,  that's  what  it  will  do! 
Why,  of  course,  I'll  come!  And  there'll  be  a  few  things, 
wines  and  spirits  and  like  that.  I'll  see  about  them,  see 
about  'em  at  once — and  now " 

And  now  the  time  for  parting  had  come,  the  time  he  had 
dreaded,  but  it  must  come;  the  car  was  at  the  door,  the  bags 
were  put  into  the  car.  And  the  owner  of  the  car  dallied, 
he  was  in  the  morning  room  and  Kathleen  was  with  him. 
She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  delayed  him,  she  had 
smiled  a  signal  to  Allan  to  go  out  and  leave  them  together 
for  a  moment  or  so,  and  Allan  had  gone. 

"You  have  been  very,  very  good  to  us,  you  have  given 
us  this  beautiful  home,  you  have  given  us  more — I  know — " 
she  said  and  her  eyes  were  very  bright  and  very  kind,  as  she 
stood,  a  queenly  young  figure,  with  her  slim  white  hand 
resting  on  his  arm — "And  I  want  to  tell  you  this — I  want 
to — to  earn  it  all.  I  want  to  earn  all  your  kindness  and 
affection.  I  want  to  prove  myself  worthy  of  it !  You  have 
given  me  all  this  and  you  have  given  me  your  son  and  he — 


112      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

he  is  the  best  of  all!  A  little  while  ago  I  thought  that  I 
was  an  old,  old  woman ;  life  seemed  to  hold  very,  very  little 
for  me,  my  whole  life  was  one  long  struggle,  a  struggle  be- 
tween pride  and  poverty.  I  suffered — "  she  paused,  "more 
than  I  can  ever  tell.  I  knew  what  people  said  of  me  and 
of — "  she  paused,  "of — of  me,  and  now  all  suddenly  I  seem 
to  realise  that  I  am  not  old,  but  that  I  am  young,  and  that 
I  am  not  afraid  of  the  years  that  lie  before  me.  Our  mar- 
riage, Allan's  and  mine,  was — was — at  first  sordid  and  mer- 
cenary, and  I  hated  itj,  but  Allan  and  I  talked  about  it  and 
we  agreed,  long  ago,  that  we  would  make  the  best,  the  very, 
very  best  possible  of  our  lives  and  I  think  we  are  doing  it. 
I  know  how  you  love  him  and  I  know  how  deeply  he  loves 
you  and  so — so  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  Allan's  wife  will 
try,  with  God's  help,  to  be  worthy  of  him  and  of  you,  that 
she  will  be  a  good,  true  and  faithful  wife  to  him,  helping 
him  when  she  may  help,  comforting  him  if  he  should  need 
comfort.  Perhaps — "  she  said  softly,  "I  am  not  a  religious 
woman,  I  wish  I  were !  But  no  religious  woman  could  have 
prayed  to  her  God  more  fervently,  more  from  her  heart  than 
I  have  prayed  from  mine  that  I  may  never  fail  in  my  duty, 
that  I  shall  be  all  that  he  would  have  me,  that  I  shall  be  a 
good,  true  and  faithful  wife  and  friend  to  the  man  whose 
name  I  bear!" 

He  did  not  speak,  his  lips  trembled  a  little,  he  put  his 
arms  about  her  and  held  her  very  tightly  for  a  moment  and 
then  he  went  out,  seeing  nothing  very  clearly,  for  the  mist 
that  was  before  his  eyes. 

And  as  he  drove  through  the  little  town  and  out  into  the 
white  Sussex  roads,  past  the  green  fields  and  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Downs,  he  remembered,  not  that  his  daughter 
was  Lady  Kathleen,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Gowerhurst,  but 
that  she  was  the  sweetest  and  the  best  woman  he  had  ever 
known. 


CHAPTER  XV 

"WILL,  YOU  TAKE  THIS  MAN  V9 

THE  kindly  cup  of  tea  of  which  Mrs.  Colley  had  spoken 
to  Abram  Lestwick  must  have  grown  cold  or  been  re- 
placed and  renewed  many  times,  but  it  was  not  partaken  of 
by  him  for  whom  it  was  so  hospitably  intended. 

Mrs.  Colley,  a  short,  little  body,  with  a  long,  lean,  bony 
face  and  black  hair,  dragged  back  painfully  from  a  pro- 
truding and  shiny  forehead,  watched  for  Abram  as  eagerly 
as  ever  a  maid  watched  for  the  coming  of  her  lover. 

'Lizabeth,  sallow  faced,  black  haired  like  her  grandmother, 
and  with  the  bad  teeth  possessed  by  too  many  country  girls, 
tossed  her  head. 

"I  don't  go  running  after  no  man!"  she  said.  "Abram 
Lestwick  least  of  all !  I  say  if  he  doan't  want  our  tea,  let  him 
stop  away!" 

"You  fool !"  said  her  grandmother,  "and  there  be  that 
Mrs.  Hanson  forever  dangling  after  he.  Would  you  be  beat, 
'Lizabeth,  by  a  pink  and  white  dolly  faced  hussy  like  Mrs. 
Hanson's  Betty  ?  I'd  have  more  pride,  I  would !" 

"She  be  welcome  to  he!"  said  'Lizabeth.  "Too  quiet 
and  mum  mouthed  he  be  to  my  liking  and " 

"There  he  be !"  said  Mrs.  Colley. 

She  bounded  out  of  her  chair  and  was  across  the  little 
sitting  room  kitchen  and  down  the  garden  path  to  the  gate 
all  in  a  moment ;  a  very  energetic  woman,  Mrs.  Colley ! 

"Oh,  Abram !"  she  said  a  little  breathlessly.  "Funny  me 
coming  out  this  moment  and  meeting  'ee  promiscus  like,  but 
I  did  see  a  great  slug  a-settling  on  my  geraniums  and  just 
at  this  very  moment  'Lizabeth  be  laying  the  tea  and  a  fresh 

113 


114      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

biscuit  she  hev  baked,  all  hot  from  the  oven,  so  du  'ee  come 
in  now,  Abram,  for  there  be  a  powerful  lot  of  things  I  want 
to  speak  wi'  'ee  about!" 

"I  be  sorry,"  he  said  gloomily,  "afraid  I  be  I  cannot 
stop!" 

"Aid  the  tea  fresh  brewed  and  on  the  hob  and  the  water 
on  it  not  more'n  three  minutes,  Abram,  and  the  biscuit  of 
'Lizabeth' s  baking,  a  currant  biscuit,  Abram!" 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  wish  'ee  good  evening,  Mrs.  Col- 
ley,"  he  said,  "and  must  be  getting  along!"  He  lifted  his 
hat  to  her,  a  polite  man,  Abram  Lestwick,  and  went  on.  Mrs. 
Colley  went  back,  beaten  and  angry. 

"She  hev  laid  a  spell  on  him,  'tis  a  good  thing  for  Mother 
Hanson  her  bain't  living  a  hundred  years  ago,  or  burned  for 
a  witch  her  would  be,  certain  sure!  And  his  coat  buttons, 
I  never  see  such  a  sight,  'Lizabeth!" 

"Drat  his  coat  buttons !    What  be  they  to  me  ?" 

"Two  gone  out  of  the  four  and  two  others  hanging  by 
threads,  and  him  working  his  fingers  whiles  he  were  talking 
wi'  me,  pulling  they  off,  a  rare  busy  time  wi'  her  needle 
will  Abram  Lestwick's  wife  hev!  Wonderful  restless  and 
nervis  he  be  about  the  hands,  'Lizabeth !" 

"Drat  his  hands!"  said  Elizabeth  Colley.  "He  doan't 
catch  me  sewing  on  his  buttons  for  him,  no  nor  for  the  best 
man  living  neither,  which  Abram  Lestwick  b'aint !" 

Down  the  road  went  Abram  Lestwick,  the  weak  chin  under 
the  straggling  growth  of  black  hair  looked  a  shade  more 
resolute  this  evening,  for  he  had  made  up  his  mind. 

Was  he,  Abram  Lestwick,  the  man  to  stand  nonsense  from 
a  mere  maid  who  dared  oppose  his  will  with  her  own  ?  No ! 
Was  he  not  Farmer  Patcham's  foreman  and  first  hand, 
looked  up  to  and  respected  ?  He  was ! 

Had  he  not  a  cottage  of  four  rooms  of  his  own  ?  He  had ! 
Was  he  not  in  receipt  of  a  steady  income  of  thirty-five  shill- 
ings a  week,  of  which  he  had  no  less  than  forty-three  pounds 


"WILL  YOU  TAKE  THIS  MAN?"    115 

ten  saved  and  standing  in  the  Post  Office  Savings  Bank  to 
his  credit  ?  He  was ! 

Very  well  then! 

Down  the  road  strode  Abram  Lestwick. 

"I'll  put  up  wi'  no  more  dilly  dallying  wi'  she!"  he  said 
to  himself,  "I  'be  a  strong  intentioned  man,  not  a  boy  like 
some,  to  be  put  off  wi'  a  grimace  and  a  shake  o'  a  head,  and 
such  like!  And  so  I'll  let  her  know  and  I  hev  her  grand- 
mother's good  wishes !" 

He  did  not  falter,  he  flung  open  the  little  green  painted 
gate  of  Mrs.  Hanson's  front  garden  and  trod  manfully  up 
the  broken  stone  pathway  to  the  cottage  door. 

"Why  if  it  hain't  Abram !"  said  Mrs.  Hanson,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise,  though  she  had  been  watching  the  clock  for  him 
this  past  half  hour.  Betty,  pouring  boiling  water  from  the 
kettle  into  the  brown  teapot,  started,  so  that  the  hot  water 
splashed  on  her  hand,  but  she  uttered  no  sound.  Her  face 
turned  white,  perhaps  it  was  the  pain  from  the  boiling  water, 
perhaps  the  sound  of  the  man's  voice ! 
i  "Good  evening!"  he  said. 

1  "Good  evening  to  'ee,  Abram,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson.  She 
looked  across  the  room  to  the  girl.  "Betty,  here  be  Abram!" 
I  "Aye,  I  know!" 

Abram  had  taken  off  his  hat,  he  was  twisting  it  between  his 
restless  fingers,  plucking  at  the  felt,  bending  the  brim.  Mrs. 
Hanson  stared  resolutely  at  his  face. 

"Wun't  'ee  draw  a  chair  and  set  down,  Abram  ?"  she  said. 
"An'  put  your  hat  down !" 

He  nodded,  he  put  his  hat  down  and  sat  by  the  table. 
Betty's  face  was  white  and  set  hard,  her  small  round  chin 
was  thrust  out  obstinately. 

Abram  looked  at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes. 

"I  du  hear  good  accounts  of  the  new  people  at  the  Manor," 
he  said. 

"Aye,  a  sweet  and  pleasant  spoken  lady  and  the  daughter 


116      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

of  a  Lord!"  said  Mrs.  Hanson.  "And  Mr.  Allan  Home- 
wood,  who  I  did  speak  with  the  very  day  he  came  here  first, 
a  very  nicely  spoken  gentleman,  I'm  sure!"  She  looked  at 
Betty. 

Betty  sat  down,  she  stared  straight  before  her,  she  knew 
that  these  were  but  preliminaries,  that  which  they  were  say- 
ing now  mattered  nothing  at  all.  Her  grandmother  poured 
out  the  tea.  Abram  took  his  cup,  he  twisted  it  round  and 
round  in  the  saucer. 

"I  see  Mrs.  Colley  as  I  passed  the  door,  picking  slugs  she 
were!  She  asked  me  in  to  tea,  she  said  there  was  a  fresh 
biscuit  of  'Lkbeth's  baking!" 

It  was  meant  for  conversation,  and  not  as  a  reflection  on 
the  present  tea  table,  which  was  guiltless  of  a  currant 
biscuit. 

"A  wunnerful  hand  at  cooking,  'Lizbeth  Colley  be!"  he 
said. 

Mrs.  Hanson  shrugged  her  shoulders,  "Hev  you  ever 
noticed  her  teeth,  Abram,  terribul  teeth  they  be !" 

"Terribul!"  he  agreed;  he  looked  at  the  girl  facing  him. 
He  could  not  see  her  teeth,  for  her  small  rosebud  mouth  was 
tightly  compressed,  but  he  had  seen  them  and  remembered 
them  for  the  whitest  pearls  he  had  ever  seen. 

"A  rare  hand  at  fashioning  and  managing,  'Lizbeth  Col- 
ley," he  remarked.  He  paused  to  drink  with  his  mouth  full 
of  bread  and  butter.  It  was  not  a  pretty  exhibition,  but 
neither  Mrs.  Hanson  nor  Betty  remarked  it.  Bread  and 
butter  and  tea  taken  at  one  meal  had  to  mingle,  sooner  or 
later;  why  not  sooner  than  later? 

The  meal  went  on,  Abram  smacked  his  lips  noisily.  Mrs. 
Hanson  tried  to  make  conversation. 

"A  bit  of  luck  for  an  old  man  like  Markabee  getting  a 
permanent  job  at  his  time  of  life!  I  wonder  how  long  du 
they  think  they'll  keep  he  ?"  she  asked. 

"Ah!" 


"WILL  YOU  TAKE  THIS  MAN?"   117 

"Though  I  du  admit  very  agile  he  be  for  his  years !" 

It  was  all  idle,  it  was  all  eating  up  time,  till  the  meal 
should  be  over.  These,  as  Betty  knew,  were  merely  prelim- 
inaries, presently  the  real  business  would  start.  Her  grand- 
mother had  warned  her. 

"Abram  be  here  to-night,  he  be,  to  hev  a  direct  answer  and 
for  'ee  to  make  up  thy  mind  and  name  the  day!"  said  Mrs. 
Hanson. 

"He'll  get  his  direct  answer,  he  will !  And  as  for  naming 
the  day,  there  wun't  be  no  day  to  name !"  said  Betty. 

"We'll  see,  my  gell!" 

"Aye,  we'll  see !"  said  Betty. 

"I  can't  think  what  have  come  to  that  maid !"  Mrs.  Han- 
son thought.  "All  contrairy  and  perilous  defiant  her  be,  and 
once " 

"Help  me  clear  they  things!"  Mrs.  Hanson  said. 

The  meal  was  over  at  last.  Abram  brought  out  his  pipe; 
he  did  not  light  it,  he  did  not  even  put  it  between  his  long, 
yellowish  teeth.  He  held  it  in  his  hand,  he  twisted  it  and 
turned  it.  He  made  of  the  bowl  a  thimble,  which  he  set  on 
his  finger;  he  picked  at  the  thin  silver  mount  and  all  the 
time  he  watched  Betty.  And  always  that  weak  chin  of  his 
under  the  coarse,  sparse  black  hairs,  seemed  to  grow  stronger 
and  more  protruberant,  more  pronounced. 

Mrs.  Hanson  spun  out  the  washing  up,  but  it  was  over 
at  last  and  she  came  back  and  took  her  usual  seat  by  the 
fireplace. 

"And  now,  Abram  ?"  she  said. 

It  was  the  signal,  Betty  stiffened  up,  she  clenched  her 
small  hands ;  Abram  dropped  the  pipe  and  stooped  to  recover 
it 

"Mrs.  Hanson,  Ma'am,  and  Betty,  you  both  know  full 
well  why  I  be  here  to-night,"  he  said.  "Terribul  slow  of 
speech  I  be — "  He  dropped  the  pipe  again  and  went  in 
search  of  it;  groping  along  the  floor,  again  he  recovered  it. 


118      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Why  not  put  the  pipe  down,  Abram?"  Mrs.  Hanson 
said.  "Pipes  be  terribul  easy  things  to  drop !" 

He  nodded,  he  put  the  pipe  down  on  the  table  and  fell  to 
plucking  out  the  horsehairs  from  the  chair  seat. 

"Terribul  slow  of  speech  I  be!"  he  repeated.  "But  you, 
Ma'am,  Mrs.  Hanson,  know,  I  think,  why  I  be  here  to- 
night! 'Tis  about  the  maid,  Betty,  your  grand-darter, 
Ma'am!" 

"Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Hanson. 

"What  hev  your  visits  to  do  wi'  me  ?"  Betty  demanded,  a 
spot  of  vivid  colour  in  her  white  cheeks. 

"I  du  love  'ee  and  want  'ee  to  marry  me!"  he  said  simply. 

"That  be  well  spoken,  straight  and  to  the  point,  that  be !" 
said  Mrs.  Hanson.  "No  man  could  speak  fairer!" 

"Then  I  will  speak  straight  and  to  the  point  tu,"  Betty 
said.  "I  du  not  love  'ee  and  will  never  marry  'ee !  I  would 
sooner  be  dead,  and  drownd  myself  I  will  before  I  marry 
'ee,  Abram  .Lestwick !" 

"Ah !"  he  said,  his  eyes  roved  towards  Mrs.  Hanson.  What 
Lad  she  to  say  to  that  ? 

"A  perilous  bad  maid  'ee  be!"  said  Mrs.  Hanson. 

"So  'ee've  told  me  till  I  be  sick  to  death  o'  hearing  it. 
Perilous  bad  and  wicked  and  ungrateful,  I  be — an  all  that's 
bad!  Why  do  he  come  here  a  persecutering  me?  Why 
doan't  he  leave  I  alone?"  the  girl  cried  passionately.  "I 
doan't  ask  him  to — to  foller  me  and  worry  me — why  doan't 
he  go  and  marry  'Lizbeth  Colley,  wi'  her  currant  biscuits? 
A  wonderful  fashioner  and  manager  she  be!  He  said  it, 
said  it  and  I — I  wun't  marry  him.  I'll  die — die  willing  and 
glad,  yes  die!  Yes,  I'U  die!" 

She  leaped  to  her  feet,  her  face  was  burning,  her  eyes 
brilliant  with  defiance  and  anger. 

"No  one  hasn't  the  right  to  so  persecute  a  maid  like  he 
du  persecute  I !  I  doan't  want  him  here.  I — I  can't  bear 
nor  bide  'ee,  Abram  Lestwick,  I  can't !" 


"WILL  YOU  TAKE  THIS  MAN?"    119 

Her  voice  faltered.  He  sat  there  staring  at  her,  never 
speaking  a  word  and  his  silence  disconcerted  her. 

"A  perilous — "  began  Mrs.  Hanson. 

"Say — say  it  again,,  say  it  again !"  Betty  panted,  "And 
I'll  scream,  I'll  scream  till  I  be  dead.  Say  it  again !" 

"And  'ee  be  my  son  Garge's  child.  Garge  as  were  ever 
mild  and  quiet,  and  I  be  Garge's  mother!"  Up  rose  Mrs. 
Hanson.  "I  be  Garge's  mother  and  thy  grandmother  and 
I  be  the  one  to  speak,  Betty  Hanson,  and  speak  I  will!" 
She  lifted  a  strong  arm  and  pointed  a  long,  thick-jointed 
finger  at  the  girl.  "Marry  him  'ee  shall,  and  I  say  it !  And 
wi'  a  good  grace  tu,  and  come  to  your  senses,  'ee  shall,  my 
maid,  if  I  break  a  stick  over  your  back!  And  I'll  hev  no 
more  o'  these  tantrums,  no  more  of  them,  I  say,  a  perilous 
bad  and  wicked  maid  'ee  be!  Hev  not  Abram  done  we  a 
great  honour  ?  Hev  he  not " 

"I'll  kill  myself  before  I  marry  him!"  the  girl  said,  but 
she  said  it  without  passion,  only  with  an  immense  certainty 
in  her  voice. 

Abram  blinked,  he  stared  at  the  ill  smelling,  newly  lighted 
lamp. 

"Listen  to  me,  Betty  Hanson.  Here  be  Abram  asking  'ee 
to  marry  'ee  and  asking  'ee  to  name  the  day — answer!" 

"I  hev  answered !" 

"Answer  as  I  order  'ee!" 

"I  shan't!" 

Mrs.  Hanson  stalked  across  the  room,  she  went  to  a  corner 
by  the  fireplace,  in  that  corner  stood  the  stout  old  stick 
that  had  supported  her  husband's  declining  years.  She  had 
always  kept  that  stick  in  the  corner,  it  was  more  homely  to  see 
it  there.  She  took  it  now,  she  came  back  to  Betty. 

"Will  'ee  marry  this  good  man?" 

"No!" 

One,  two,  three,  down  came  the  stick,  heavily  across  the 
slender  shoulders.  The  girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  born  of 
the  smart  of  the  blows,  but  she  kept  her  white  teeth  clenched. 


120      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"I  ask  'ee  again,  will  'ee  name  the  day  1" 

"No,  never!" 

Thud,  thud,  thud! 

Ahram  Lestwick  leaned  forward,  he  stared  at  them  both. 
He  was  tearing  the  threads  out  of  the  fringe  of  the  cheap 
tablecloth  now.  He  watched  Betty's  face  without  emotion. 
"Dogged  obst'nate  her  be!"  he  muttered. 

"Betty  Hanson,  my  mind  be  made  up!  Will  'ee  take 
this  man  to  be  your  lawful  wedded  husband,  in  sickness  and 
in  health,  for  better  an'  for  worser,  till  death  du  'ee  part?" 

"I  wun't,  I  hate  him!" 

Thud,  thud,  thud. 

"And  I  hate  'ee  tu!"  said  Betty  suddenly. 

"That  be  enough!"  The  stick  fell.  "  'Ee've  said  it, 
Betty  Hanson!  Said  it!  Said  it  past  recall!  Hate  me, 
'ee  said  it!  And  to-morrow  'ee  go  out,  go  out,  my  maid, 
for  I  live  in  no  house  where  hate  du  abide !" 

"Ill  go  and  glad,  glad !"  the  girl  said. 

Abram  rose  slowly. 

"I  beg  to  thank  'ee  for  a  good  tea,  which  I  did  enjoy,  Mrs. 
Hanson,  'tis  time  for  me  to  be  going!"  he  turned  towards 
the  door.  "A  very  good  tea !"  he  said.  "I  bain't  partial  to 
new  baked  currant  biscuits!"  He  paused  at  the  door  and 
looked  at  Betty. 

"I'll  ask  'ee  to  name  the  day  some  other  time,  my  maid ! 
I  be  a  patient  man,  a  very  patient  man,  I  be  in  no  hurry,  no 
hurry  at  all !  And  I  wish  'ee  good  night,  Mrs.  Hanson,  and 
thank  'ee  for  your  good  tea  once  again !" 

Betty  stared  at  him,  her  eyes  were  wide,  filled  with  terror. 
She  lifted  her  hands  to  her  face,  she  gripped  her  face  be- 
tween them,  the  sharp  little  nails  dug  into  the  soft,  peach- 
like  cheeks,  but  she  felt  no  piain,  was  unconscious  of  what 
she  was  doing. 

He  looked  at  her  and  smiled,  he  backed  out  and  closed  the 
door,  b\it  she  did  not  move.  She  heard  his  steps  outside, 


"WILL  YOU  TAKE  THIS  MAN?"    121 

her  breast  was  rising  and  falling  and  when  she  spoke,  she 
spoke  in  gasps,  in  short  breathless  sentences. 

"Did  'ee  see — grandmother,  did  'ee  see — his  hands — his 
hateful  hands  ?  Grandmother,  did  'ee  see  ?  One  day — he'll 
kill  someone  wi'  they  hands,  kill  'em — grandmother,  maybe 
— maybe  'twill  be — me  I" 


CHAPTER   XVI 


I  AM  glad  Mr.  Dalabey  spared  her,"  said  Kathleen. 
She  nodded  towards  the  little  figure  of  the  nymph  stand- 
ing up  from  the  middle  of  the  lake. 

"So  am  1 1"  Allan  said.  "But  I've  a  great  respect  for  Dala- 
bey, he  does  not  look  it,  but  he  is  an  artist.  He  has  a  right 
perception,  a  sense  of  fitness.  Dalabey  is  a  reader  and  a 
thinker,  too.  Kathleen,  you  would  be  surprised  by  the 
depth  of  Dalabey's  knowledge,  for  all  that  he  says  'I  be'  and 
'Du  'ee  ?'  Which,  after  all,  may  be  better  English  than  that 
which  you  and  I  speak.  You  would  hardly  believe  that 
Dalabey  and  Ruskin  have  more  than  a  nodding  acquaintance, 
but  so  it  is!  Yes,  I'm  glad  he  spared  the  little  stone  maid. 
Do  you  know  the  first  morning  we  were  here,  dear,  I  worried 
about  her.  I  rose  early  and  came  out  to  see  if  she  were 
still  here  and  there  she  was,  a  monument  to  Dalabey's  good 
sense!  I've  congratulated  him  since!" 

She  was  listening  to  him  with  a  smile  on  her  lips.  !N~ow  she 
glanced  at  him,;  at  the  tall,  big  young  man  by  her  side — 
her  husband! 

"Allan,"  she  said  suddenly,  "Allan,  you  seem  to  be  very 
happy !" 

"Happy!"  he  was  startled.  "Of  course  I  am  happy. 
Why — why  did  you  say  that  i  I  am  happy  and  content.  I 
have  the  dearest  and  best  man  in  the  world  for  father.  I 

have  a  wife  who  is  friend  and  comrade "  he  pressed  her 

hand.    "I  have  a  home,  the  like  of  which  there  is  not  to  be 
found  in  all  England!     Happy — why  not,  Kathleen?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.     He  had  said  the  dearest 

122 


"MY  LADY  MERCIFUL"  123 

father  and  his  wife — after  all  his  wife  was  only  friend  and 
comrade — only !  Why  did  she  feel  vaguely  dissatisfied,  had 
she  not  set  herself  to  be  just  that  very  thing,  that  he  said 
she  was — friend,  comrade,  and  now  he  had  said  it,  she  felt 
a  little  regret 

"And  you  would  not  have  things  different  from  what  they 
are,  Allan?" 

"!N"o !"  he  said.  "I'm  very,  very  content,  very  proud  and 
very  happy,  Kathleen." 

"And  the  dream,"  she  said,  "the  dream  you  told  me  of, 
Allan,  the  pretty  girl  who  came " 

He  laughed  frankly,  almost  boyishly,  a  laugh  so  clear  and 
so  ringing  that  it  was  infectious. 

"Because  I  had  a  pleasant  dream  and  dreamed  a  pretty 
girl  was  imprudent  enough  to  come  and  kiss  me,  shall  I  moon 
about  disconsolate  and  unhappy,  my  mind  filled  with  stupid 
longing  and  foolish  regrets,  eh  ?" 

"But  the  dream  did  affect  you  for  a  time,  Allan  ?" 

"For  a  time,"  he  said,  "it  was  so  clear,  so  real,  so  strange, 
'so — so  undreamlike  that  it  must  affect  me!  Kathleen,  I 
never  think  of  it  now,  I've  put  it  out  of  my  mind,  I've  sat 
there  a  score  of  times  on  that  very  seat  and  no  dreams  have 
come,  I've  smiled  at  the  foolish  fancy  of  it,  laughed  it  all  to 
scorn — and  forgotten  it " 

"But  if  it  were  not — all  a  dream,  if  one  day  she  came  into 
your  life — that  girl " 

He  shook  his  head.  "She  was  a  dream  and  she  doesn't 
exist,  she  never  will  and  never  can — she  came  and  she  went — 
for  good!" 

"And  yet,"  she  persisted,  with  a  woman's  strange  per- 
sistence, "Allan,  if — if  she  came,  if  you  saw  her  in  life, 
if » 

"Then,"  he  said  quietly  and  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes, 
"you  have  my  promise,  dear,  just  as  I  have  yours,  but  it 
will  never,  never  be — Kathleen,  shall  I  be  truthful,  honest, 
candid  with  you  ?  I  never  want  it  to  be,  dear,  I  am  well 


124      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

content !  And  now  come "  he  went  on  gaily,  "and  we'll 

talk  to  old  Markabee,  that  young  fellow  who  refuses  to  grow 
old !  Come,  dear  and " 

But  she  shook  her  head.  "I  am  going  to  the  village,  Al- 
lan," she  said,  "at  least,  not  to  the  village,  but  to  a  little 
cottage  between  here  and  Little  Stretton,  Mrs.  Hanson's 
cottage." 

"Hanson,  I  remember  a  kindly  talkative  old  dame  who  has 
always  a  smile  and  a  country  bob  for  us." 

"I  am  afraid  she  is  not  as  kindly  as  she  looks !"  Kathleen 
said. 

"Why,  what  has  the  wicked  old  body  been  doing?" 

"Ill-treating  her  granddaughter,  so  I  have  heard.  It  was 
Debly  Cassons  who  told  me.  She  said  she  was  passing  Mrs. 
Hanson's  cottage  as  she  came  here  last  evening,  and  she 
heard  the  sound  of  beating  and  looking  in  through  the  window 
saw  that  wicked  old  woman  thrashing  the  girl  with  a  stick. 

And  there "  Kathleen  went  on,  "the  girl  was  standing 

accepting  the  blows  without  a  sound,  but  later  as  Debly  was 
going  back,  she  heard  someone  sobbing  as  thought  her  heart 
was  breaking  and  she  found  the  girl  lying  on  the  grass  in  the 
little  garden  crying  bitterly.  Debly  is  a  kindly  old  soul  and 
she  tried  to  comfort  her  and  find  out  what  the  trouble  was, 
but  the  girl  would  not  answer,  so " 

"So  my  dear  little  Lady  Bountiful,  my  Lady  Merciful  is 
going  to  carry  comfort  to  the  ill-used  child,  eh  ?" 

He  looked  at  Kathleen,  then  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
touched  hers.  "Kathleen,  you  are  a  good  woman,"  he  said 
sincerely  and  gently,  "I  wish  I  could  think  that  I  were 
worthy  of  you !" 

Kathleen  shook  her  head,  she  did  not  speak. 

There  was  a  trace  of  sadness  in  her  eyes  as  she  went  back 

alone  to  the  house.    It  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  the  chance 

of  happiness  of  a  great  and  wonderful  happiness,  yet  she 

could  not  stretch  out  her  hand  to  grasp  it,  could  not  because 

,  of  memories,  years  old  memories,  memories  of  another  face 


"MY  LADY  MERCIFUL"  125 

and  another  voice,  memories  of  a  love  that  had  filled  her  life 
once.  She  had  loved  then,  she  told  herself,  as  a  woman  loves 
but  once,  as  she  could  never  love  again. 

"Allan's  happiness  and  mine,"  she  said  to  herself,  "is 
built  not  on  love,  but  on  friendship  and  respect,  perhaps 
it  is  the  surest,  the  best  foundation,"  yet  while  she  consoled 
herself,  she  sighed  a  little  and  the  sadness  stayed  in  her 
eyes. 

Very  grim  and  very  silent  was  Mrs.  Hanson  this  morn- 
ing. Last  night  that  maid,  the  maid  she  had  brought  up 
from  babyhood  had  told  her  that  she  hated  her,  had  said 
"shan't"  to  her,  had  defied  her. 

Mrs.  Hanson  had  had  a  strict  upbringing  herself,  she  had 
married  Hanson  because  he  was  in  regular  work  and  was 
drawing  good  pay,  twelve  shillings  a  week,  no  less.  Her  par- 
ents had  told  her  to  marry  Hanson  and  she  had  married 
him.  The  marriage  market  has  its  branches  in  the  smallest 
of  villages  and  marriages  of  convenience  are  not  luxuries  en- 
joyed only  by  the  rich  and  the  wellborn. 

And  she,  in  her  turn,  had  found  a  very  suitable  husband 
for  this  wayward  maid  who,  lacking  in  duty  and  obedience, 
definitely  refused  to  accept  that  husband. 

Very  well  then !  Mrs,.  Hanson  had  every  reason  to  be  hurt 
and  aggrieved. 

Betty  had  risen  early — as  usual — had  cleaned  out  the 
little  cottage  kitchen,  had  polished  the  stove  till  it  shone,  had 
made  the  fire  and  had  prepared  the  breakfast  just  as  usual, 
but  all  the  time  she  was  doing  it,  she  knew  that  she  was 
doing  it  for  the  last  time. 

Last  night  her  grandmother  had  said  to  her,  "You  shall 
go!" 

Her  grandmother  never  changed  her  mind,  never  re- 
lented, never  altered.  Betty  knew  this  of  long,  long  ex- 
perience, besides  in  any  event  she  would  go,  she  would  not 
stay — no,  not  even  if  her  grandmother  begged  her  to  on 
her  bended  knees,  and  that  was  not  in  the  least  likely. 


They  had  their  breakfast  together  in  stony  silence.  After 
breakfast  Mrs.  Hanson  spoke. 

"Wash  they  things  and  put  them  back  on  the  dresser — for 
the  last  time !"  she  added. 

Betty  had  washed  the  things,  she  had  replaced  them  on 
jthe  dresser,  on  to  the  snowy  white  board  of  the  dresser  top 
she  had  permitted  one  large  hot  tear  to  splash. 

Her  grandmother  sat  stiffly  upright  in  her  chair  by  the 
window  with  the  huge  family  Bible  open  on  the  little  rickety 
round  table  before  her. 

Mrs.  Hanson  always  turned  to  the  Bible  for  comfort  and 
for  advice  in  times  of  stress  and  doubt.  She  was  reading 
stolidly  through  the  story  of  Naboth's  Vineyard  and  was 
deriving  much  spiritual  comfort  from  it.  Very  stern  and 
unrelenting  she  looked  sitting  primly  bolt  upright,  her  hands 
resting  on  the  book  and  her  spectacles  adjusted  on  the  end 
of  her  long  and  pointed  nose. 

Now  and  again  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  she  glanced 
at  the  girl  who  was  slowly  putting  the  finishing  touches  to 
her  work.  In  a  little  while  the  girl  must  be  gone,  Mrs. 
Hanson  was  a  stern  and  unrelenting  woman. 

Where  the  girl  would  go  to,  Mrs.  Hanson  did  not  know, 
she  never  gave  it  a  thought. 

"She  did  say,  she  did  hate  me!"  the  old  woman  thought. 
"Hate — a  perilous  wicked  thing  for  a  young  gell  to  say — and 
to  abide  in  a  house  of  hatred,  I  will  not !  There's  the  Bible 
for  it — 'Better  a  dinner  of  yarbs  and  contentment  therewith 

than  a  stalled  ox  in  the  house ' '  Mrs.  Hanson  looked 

up,  a  shadow  had  fallen  across  the  window,  there  came  a  light 
tapping  on  the  door. 

"Bless  me  and  bless  my  dear  soul!"  said  Mrs.  Hanson 
aloud,  "if  here  b'ain't  my  Lady  Homewood,  Betty  quick — 
quickly  open  the  door  to  Her  Ladyship,  quick  now !  Do  Jee 
hear  me  speak  ?" 

The  door  was  opened  by  Betty.  Coming  from  the  hot 
bright  sunlight  of  the  outer  world  into  the  twilight  of  the 


"MY  LADY  MERCIFUL"  127 

little  room,  Kathleen  could  only  see  a  slight,  slender  figure 
in  an  old  cotton  gown,  which  figure  bobbed  a  deferential,  yet 
it  almost  seemed  a  defiant  little  curtsey  to  her. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Hanson's  cottage  ?"  Kathleen  asked. 

"Yes,  my  lady!" 

Mrs.  Hanson  had  risen,  she  bobbed,  it  was  no  half  hearted 
curtsey  this  of  hers,  she  seemed  to  sink  into  the  floor  to 
her  middle  and  then  rose  again,  tall  and  lean  and  agitated. 

"Mrs.  Hanson  I  be,  my  Lady,  and  proud  I  be  to  see  your 
Ladyship  here — Betty,  a  chair  for  her  Ladyship,  my  maid !" 

Betty  brought  a  chair,  she  flicked  it  with  a  duster  and 
placed  it  that  Kathleen  might  be  seated. 

And  now  Kathleen,  whose  sight  had  grown  accustomed 
to  the  dimmer  light  of  the  room,  could  see  the  child  plainly, 
and  seeing  her,  wondered  a  little  at  the  loveliness  of  the 
little  piteous  face,  the  drawn  mouth,  the  big  saddened  eyes 
that  had  so  evidently  recently  shed  tears. 

Poor  pretty  little  maid!  Kathleen  remembered  what 
Debly  had  told  her  of  the  child  lying  out  in  the  grass,  sob- 
bing her  heart  out  in  the  darkness  of  the  night.  She  looked 
at  the  stern  puritanical  looking  old  woman  and  Kathleen, 
who  was  hot  blooded  and  generous,  felt  instinctive  dislike 
of  her,  which  dislike  was  unjust  and  ill  placed. 

So,  having  come  expressly  about  this  girl  with  the  golden 
hair  and  the  sweet  oval  face,  Kathleen,  being  a  very  diplo- 
matic young  woman,  spoke  of  everything  and  anything  else 
under  the  sun.  She  told  Mrs.  Hanson  how  often  she  had 
admired  the  neatness  and  prettiness  of  the  little  front  gar- 
den. 

"It  is  so  nice  to  see  gardens  so  well  kept,  I  am  sure  yours 
is  a  great  credit  to  you,  and  oh  Mrs.  Hanson,  do  please  sit 
down,  we  can't  talk  comfortably,  can  we,  if  you  stand?" 

"Oh,  my  Lady,  to  sit  in  your  presence!" 

"Then  you.  will  force  me  to  stand  too!"  said  Kathleen. 

So  Mrs.  Hanson  sat  down  on  the  very  edge  of  her  hard 
chair  and  they  talked  of  the  garden,  that  neat  little  garden 


128      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

with  its  flower  beds,  surrounded  by  nice  large  flint  stoneig 
which  Betty  whitened  regularly  every  Saturday,  to  make 
all  prim  and  clean  and  spotless  for  the  Sunday. 

'TTou  have  lived  here  many  years?"  Kathleen  asked. 

"A  Hanson  hev  always  lived  in  this  cottage,  my  Lady, 
from  time  out  o'  mind.  A  Bifley  were  I  born,  my  mother 
being  a  Pringle,  and  me  married  to  Amos  Hanson  when  I 
were  just  turned  seventeen." 

"Ah  yes !"  Kathleen  said.  "And  this  is  your  granddaugh- 
ter?" 

"My  granddarter  her  be,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson  sternly. 

"And  of  course  you  need  her  here  to  help  you  in  this 
little  cottage?"  Kathleen  hazarded. 

"I  du  not  need  she,  my  Lady,  and  her  be  going  to  leave 
me,  her  be,  this  very  day !" 

"To — to  leave — you — you  mean  the  child  is  going  away  ? 
Where  is  she  going  to  ?" 

Mrs.  Hanson  did  not  answer.  The  girl  was  still  in  the 
room,  seemingly  busy  at  the  dresser,  but  Kathleen  looking 
could  see  the  slender  shoulders  shake  and  knew  what  a  big 
fight  the  little  maid  was  putting  up  to  keep  herself  from 
bursting  into  tears. 

What  little  village  tragedy  was  here?  she  wondered. 

"Is  she  going  to  London  ?"  Kathleen  asked. 

"I  du  not  know,  my  Lady !" 

"But "  Kathleen  said. 

Mrs.  Hanson  rose,  she  was  trembling. 

"My  Lady,  that  I  should  hev  to  tell  'ee  a  stranger,  yet 
with  a  face  so  kind,  that  emboldened  I  be — my  Lady — this 

mai  J,  this  perilous  wicked  maid "  the  old  dame  stopped 

for  :.-  moment,  quivering  and  shaking,  "this  perilous  bad, 
wicked  onnatchral  maid  did  say  to  me — I  hate  'ee,  I  du! 
Said  it  my  lady  »wi'  her  own  lips  and  tongue,  she  did !  And 
I  said  tu  her  'Betty  Hanson,  granddarter  o'  mine,  'ee  may  be, 
but  never,  never  will  I  abide  in  a  house  where  hatred  du 
exist,  so  out  of  this  house  du  'ee  go  for  a  bad  perilous  maid 


"MY  LADY  MERCIFUL"  129 

on  the  morrow !'    And  this  be  the  morrow,  my  Lady- 


"But  she  is  so  young,  only  a  child  and  surely  you  would 
not  let  her  go  without  knowing  she  is  going  into  safety  and 
into  the  house  of  friends  ?  She  is  your  granddaughter  and 
you  are  responsible  for  her !  Do  you  think  that  you  are  act- 
ing rightly?  Do  you  think — oh  please  don't  think  that  I 
am  preaching  to  you — but  she  is  so  young  and  so  pretty 
and  to  think  of  her  going — and  never  even  knowing  where 
the  poor  child  is  going  to !" 

"I  hev  chose  for  she  a  good  husband,  a  man  wi'  thirty-five 
shillings  a  week  coming  in,  a  cottage  too  and  of  quiet  ways !" 

"But  if  she  does  not  love  him  ?"  Kathleen  asked,  and,  re- 
membering her  own  marriage,  blushed  red  as  a  rose. 

"Love  him  indeed,  my  lady,  hev  I  not  chose  he  for  she  ?  A 
good  upstanding,  upright  man  as  ever  was,  to  Church  regular 
twice  a  Sundays,  walking  in  the  fear  of  God,  he  du,  and  very 
respectable  wi'  never  a  word  to  be  heard  against  he — and — 

and "  Mrs.  Hanson  paused  nervously  and  exhausted 

for  the  moment. 

"But  she  is  only  a  child !    Betty,  come  here,  Betty !" 

"Betty,  du  'ee  hear  her  Ladyship  a-speaking  to  'ee?" 
cried  the  grandmother. 

But  Betty  at  the  dresser,  her  back  obstinately  turned,  did 
not  move. 

"There,  there !"  said  Mrs.  Hanson  triumphantly,  "  'ee  can 
see  for  yourself,  my  Lady,  how  bad  and  de-fiant  and  ob- 
stinant  her  du  be — Oh  Betty,  shame  on  thee !"  the  old  woman 
added,  for  Kathleen  herself  had  risen  and  had  gone  across 
the  room  to  the  lonely  little  figure  and  all  suddenly  had  put  a 
kind  arm  about  those  heaving  shoulders. 

"Betty,  Betty  child,  come  and  tell  me  all  about  it!"  she 
said  in  that  sweet  gentle  voice  of  hers  that  could  break 
down  any  barrier  of  anger  and  defiance.  And  then  Betty, 
knowing,  feeling  that  here  was  a  friend,  broke  down  suddenly 
and  giving  way  to  the  long  threatening  tears,  laid  her  head 
against  Kathleen's  breast  and  sobbed. 


130      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"I  hate  him,  I  hate  him  I  da  and  fear  him  I  du,  My — my 
lady  and  grandmother  be  so  bent  on  my  marrying  he  and  I, 
I  can't!  Oh  I  can't  bear  it,  I  can't  and  'tis  breaking  my 
heart,  it  be,  my — my  Lady !" 

"Hush,  little  one,  don't  cry!"  Kathleen  said. 

"Betty,  I  be  mortal  ashamed  of  'ee,  I  be!"  said  Mrs. 
Hanson.  "Mortal  ashamed  and  all  put  about  I  be!" 

"Please,  Mrs.  Hanson,  let  me  speak  to  her!"  said  Kath- 
leen. She  drew  Betty  towards  her  chair,  she  sat  down  and 
held  the  girl's  hot  little  hand  and  looked  into  the  pretty 
flushed  tear  stained  face.  Poor  pretty  child! 

"How  old  are  you,  Betty  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  be — be  eighteen,  my  Lady!" 

"And  behaving  she  be  like  she  were  but  seven !"  said  Mrs. 
Hanson.  "A  perilous  bad "  she  paused. 

"Your  grandmother  says  you  must  go,  Betty!" 

"Aye,  I  du,  I  du,  and  when  I  du  say  a  thing,  by  that  thing 
I  du  abide!"  said  Mrs.  Hanson.  "Go,  I  said,  and  go  she 
shall!  A  very  unrelenting  woman  I  be!" 

And  then  at  last  came  a  flash  of  anger  into  Kathleen's  eyes. 

"Yes,  a  very  hard  and  unrelenting  woman,  I  fear,  Mrs. 
Hanson !  Has  this  child  no  other  friends,  no  other  relations, 
than  you  ?" 

"Never  a  soul  hev  she  got,  and  I  hev  brought  she  up !" 

"And  now  would  turn  her  out  of  the  house,  knowing  that 
she  had  no  one  to  go  to,  no  one  to  keep  and  protect  her,  for 
shame,  Mrs.  Hanson!"  cried  Kathleen  in  just  indignation. 

Mrs.  Hanson  said  nothing,  she  quivered  and  shook.  Per- 
haps in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  wanted  to  give  way,  but  she 
had  said  it,  a  stern  and  unrelenting  woman  was  she,  and 
prided  herself  on  it. 

"And  where  will  you  go  to,  Betty,  when  you  leave  your 
grandmother's  cottage  ?" 

"Oh  my  lady,  I  du  not  know,  indeed  I  du  not !  For  I  hev 
not  thought  of  it,  but  I  wouldn't  mind  where  I  did  go,  so  be  it 


"MY  LADY  MERCIFUL"  131 

•was  not  to  Abram  Lestwick,  who  I  du  hate  and  of  whom  I 
be  in  most  mortal  terror,  my — my  lady !" 

"Then  you  shall  not  go  to  him,  you  shall  come  to  me,  Betty, 
and  you  shall  be  my  little  maid !"  Kathleen  said. 

"To — to  the  Manor  House,  my — my  lady?"  Betty  stam- 
mered, "Oh  my  Lady,  to — to  the  Manor  House?" 

"Why,  of  course,  child,  for  I  live  there !" 

"Oh  my  Lady,  I — I  couldn't,  don't  ask  me — I  couldn't 
bear  to — to  go  there  and  see  it  all — all  as  it  be  now — I 
couldn't  my  Lady,  'twould  break  my  heart !" 

Kathleen  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "But  why,  Betty  ?" 
she  said.  "I  don't  understand !" 

"My  Lady,"  interposed  Mrs.  Hanson,  "if  so  be  as  I  may 
be  allowed  to  speak "  she  paused,  quivering  with  indigna- 
tion, "  'tis  but  right  I  should  tell  'ee  this,  that  this  wayward, 
obstinate,  perilous  gel  was  forever  in  they  old  gardens  before 
Mr.  Homewood  bought  the  old  place,  forever  she  was,  spite  of 
all  I  did  say  to  she.  Sometimes  of  nights  I  du  verily  believe 
she  would  rise  and  go  stealing  off  to  they  gardens,  a  terribul 
state  they  was  in  too,  and  coming  back  wi'  her  frock  all 
covered  wi'  green  like  and  sometimes  tored  by  the  wall  over 
which  she  did  climb  most  shameful " 

Kathleen  heard,  she  looked  at  the  girl  who  stood  with 
bowed  head  before  her. 

"Why  did  you  go  to  the  garden,  Betty  ?"  she  asked  softly. 

"Because — oh  I — I  don't  know,  because — I  can't — can't 
tell  'ee,  my  Lady,  I  can't  tell  'ee,  but  it  be  all  changed  and 
altered  now  wi'  great  fences  put  up  and — and  my  stone 
maid  gone  and  'twould  break  my  heart,  my  Lady  to  go  there 
and  not  see  she,  my  stone  maid,  any  more !" 

"The  stone  maid  is  not  gone,  Betty,  and  the  gardens  have 
not  been  altered,  but  only  made  beautiful  and  they  tell  me 
that  they  must  be  just  as  they  were  in  the  old  days !" 

"I  wonder,  my  Lady,  as  'ee  have  the  patience  to  talk  wi' 
she!"  said  Mrs.  Hanson. 


132      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

But  Kathleen  took  no  notice.  "So,  Betty,  will  you  come 
to  me  and  be  my  little  maid  ?" 

"And  glad  and  grateful!"  said  Mrs.  Hanson.  "Say  it!" 
she  commanded.  "Elizabeth  Hanson,  say  it,  yes — and  glad 
and  grateful  I  du  be,  my  Lady,  to  'ee  for  your  great  kindness, 
and  drop  my  Lady  a  curtsey,  'ee  unmannerly  maid,  as  I  be 
sore  ashamed  of!" 

"If  only "  Kathleen  thought,  "if  only  the  old  woman 

would  leave  the  child  alone,  poor  Betty,  I  can  see  why  that 
little  spirit  of  hers  was  goaded  into  rebellion  at  last !" 

"I  need  no  thanks !"  Kathleen  said,  "I  only  want  Betty  to 
say  that  she  will  come ;  you  will  come,  child  ?" 

How  kind  were  those  eyes  that  looked  into  hers,  how  sweet 
a  smile  there  was  on  her  Ladyship's  beautiful  face !  It  must 
have  melted  a  heart  of  stone  and  Betty's  warm  passionate 
little  heart  was  not  of  stone.  So  she  broke  down,  sobbing 
and  crying,  she  would  come  and  glad  and  grateful  she  was, 
and  come  she  would  that  very  day  if  her  Ladyship  would 
but  have  her. 

"Pack  your  little  box,  Betty,"  Kathleen  said,  "and  I 
will  send  one  of  the  men  presently  to  fetch  it  for  you  and  I 
think  and  hope  you  will  be  happy  and — and  maybe  Betty, 
you  will  not  find  the  old  garden  so  changed  after  all.  I  will 
answer  for  it  there  are  no  ugly  fences  and  the  stone  maid 
stands  where  she  did  in  the  middle  of  the  lake,  Betty,  so — 
so  come  and  see  your  little  friend  again !"  She  held  out  her 
kind  hand,  but  Betty  did  not  take  it,  instead  she  dropped 
suddenly  onto  her  knees  and  kissed  that  white  hand  as  if 
it  had  been  the  hand  of  a  Queen,  and  so  like  a  queen  was 
Kathleen  to  the  country  maid,  a  Queen  all  beautiful,  all  gen- 
erous, all  kind.  Queen !  No,  an  angel  from  Heaven  rather ! 

And  when  she  had  gone  Betty  stood  there,  all  unmindful 
that  her  grandmother  was  here  and  she  spoke  her  thoughts 
aloud. 

"Very  willing  and  glad  I  would  be,"  she  said  slowly,  "very 
willing  and  glad  to  die  for  she,  I  would !" 


"MY  LADY  MERCIFUL"  133 

Mrs.  Hanson  sniffed,  she  had  no  patience  with  such  out- 
rageous and  exaggerated  statements. 

"Get  'ee  off  and  pack  your  box,"  she  said  sharply,  "and 
think  yourself  lucky,  Betty  Hanson,  as  'ee  hev  found  an- 
other home,  and  a  kind  mistress,  too  kind  I  be  afeared !  Too 
kind  and  lenient  like  wi'  'ee  and  your  folly,  my  maid!" 


CHAPTER   XVII 

HAROLD    SCARSDALE    RETURNS 

KATHLEEN'S  face  was  very  thoughtful,  a  little  sad 
even,  as  she  walked  back  along  the  white  dusty  road. 
She  hardly  saw  the  village  folk,  who  bobbed  and  curtseyed 
to  her  as  she  passed.  She  saw  only  a  sweet  oval  face,  a  glori- 
ous head  of  glittering  hair,  a  pair  of  sad,  wistful  blue  eyes. 

"So  these  people  do,  as  their  betters !"  she  thought.  "They 
drive  and  goad  their  children  into  unhappy  marriages !  My 
Lord's  daughter  must  be  made  to  marry  thirty  thousand  a 
year,  as  little  Betty,  Mrs.  Hanson's  granddaughter,  is  to  be 
forced  into  marriage  with  thirty  shillings  a  week!  How 
wrong  and  what  a  shame  it  all  is!  Money,  rank,  position 
and  interest !  Is  there  no  such  thing  as  love  left  in  the  world 
at  all  ?  May  not  a  man  choose  his  mate,  a  woman  choose  for 
herself  from  among  all  men,  the  one  she  loves  ?  It  seems  not, 

in  village  or  in  city,  in  cottage  or  in  palace,  and  I " 

she  paused.  "I  did  as  I  was  bidden  and  I  am  happier  per- 
haps than  I  deserve  to  be !" 

Kathleen,  unlike  other  well  born  young  ladies  of  Society, 
had  had  no  maid,  in  the  old  days  she  could  not  afford  one. 
Amy,  the  parlour  maid,  had  assisted  her  into  the  dresses  that 
were  so  very  seldom  paid  for,  and  Kathleen  had  long  since 
adopted  the  unladylike  practice  of  doing  her  own  hair.  So 
when  she  came  to  Homewood  she  had  decided  to  continue 
without  a  maid,  though  the  funds  were  not  lacking  now  and 
the  dresses  were  certainly  paid  for. 

Of  course  little  Betty  Hanson  would  not  know  a  tithe  of 
those  things  that  a  good  and  practiced  lady's  maid  should 
know.  She  would  not  be  able  to  do  her  ladyship's  hair  in 

134 


HAROLD  SCARSDALE  RETURNS  135 

the  latest  and  most  becoming  style.  She  would  not  be  able 
to  select  gowns  suitable  for  special  occasions.  She  would  not 
be  able  to  massage  my  lady's  white  hands  and  perhaps  her 
face.  She  would  not  be  able  to  flatter  and  fawn  and  sponge 
and  perhaps  rob  and  lie.  !N"o,  Betty  Hanson  was  not  likely 
to  have  any  of  these  desirable  accomplishments. 

Kathleen  had  an  honest  admiration  for  beauty.  She  waa 
one  of  those  rare  women  who  can  see  and  appreciate  beauty 
in  another  woman.  She  would  have  everything  about  her 
beautiful  if  she  could.  She  feared  that  perhaps  to  those  who 
were  unbeautiful,  she  was  a  little  unjust.  To  Ann,  the  very 
plain  housemaid  who  came  from  the  Fulham  Road,  for  in- 
stance, Kathleen  was  more  than  unusually  kind  and  generous, 
because  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  did  not  like  Ann.  And  she 
believed  that  she  did  not  like  Ann  because  Ann  had  a  sallow, 
greasy  skin,  a  misshapen  nose  and  small  mean  eyes,  set  too 
closely  together  and  a  loose,  nondescript  kind  of  mouth. 

Ann,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  a  stupid,  blundering  creature, 
who  forgot  to  do  one  half  of  what  she  was  told  and  deliber- 
ately neglected  to  do  the  other  half,  who  generally  did  every- 
thing badly,  and  had  a  habit  of  breaking  the  most  expensive 
things  she  could  put  her  clumsy  hands  on.  Once  Kathleen, 
goaded  and  irritated  by  Ann's  hopeless  imbecility  had  spoken 
sharply — sharply  for  her — to  the  girl  and  had  promptly  re- 
pented of  it  and  had  given  Ann  five  shillings  and  begged  a 
half  day  off  for  her  from  Mrs.  Crozier,  the  housekeeper. 

But  that  was  like  Kathleen  and  that  was  why  the  servants 
adored  her. 

But  Kathleen  was  a  little  disturbed  in  her  mind.  She 
found  herself  wondering,  remembering  and  wondering — 
what  was  this  about  this  child  haunting  the  old  garden  at  the 
Manor  House,  climbing  the  high  brick  wall  and  entering  into 
that  place  of  desolation  and  solitude,  called  thither,  who 
knows  by  what  strange  voices?  What  was  this  about  her 
going  there  of  nights  to  wander  about  the  black  solitudes  of 
tangle  and  weed?  Surely  it  was  not  right,  it  was  not 


136      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

canny.  She  smiled  at  the  "word,  the  word  that  she  had  heard 
her  old  Scottish  nurse  use  years  and  years  ago.  Yet  it  was 
the  right  word,  it  was  not  canny  that  a  young  and  pretty  girl 
should  have  so  strange  a  love  for  solitudes  and  weed  grown 
gardens. 

"Could  it — could  it  have  been  she?"  What  mad  non- 
sense, what  folly  was  this?  Kathleen  wondered  at  her  own 
thoughts.  How  could  it  have  heen  this  girl  whom  Allan  had 
seen  there  that  day?  He  had  said  it  was  a  dream,  it  must 
have  been  a  dream — this  girl  was  no  dream,  but  living  realty. 
And  then  Allan  had  told  her  that  the  girl  of  his  dream  had 
been  dressed  all  in  some  strange,  old  world  costume,  how 
the  garden  about  her  had  been  in  bloom  and  all  so  trim  and 
neat  and  tidy,  how  the  old  house,  a  place  of  desolation,  had 
been  bright  and  gay  with  its  open  windows  and  blowing  cur- 
tains, and  how  the  girl  herself  had  gone  to  him  and  had 
kissed  him  and  had  put  her  little  mittened  hands — mittened 
hands — had  little  Betty  Hanson  ever  owned  a  pair  of  mittens 
in  her  life?  No,  no  those  things  had  gone  out  in  Betty's 
great-grandmother's  time,  what  mad  nonsense  it  all  was !  So 
Kathleen  laughed  merrily  and  laughed  the  ideas  and  the  no- 
tions all  away. 

She  went  to  find  Mrs.  Crozier — Mrs.  Crozier,  the  elderly, 
kindly  autocrat  of  the  house,  Mrs.  Crozier  who  had  been 
housekeeper  in  a  far  finer  and  more  magnificent  mansion  than 
this,  no  less  a  place  than  Dwennington  Hall,  the  seat  of  the 
Duke  of  Grandon. 

"Mrs.  Crozier,  I  have  engaged  a  young  village  girl,  Betty 
Hanson,  granddaughter  of  Mrs.  Hanson,  who  lives  in  the 
cottage  up  the  road  towards  Little  Stretton,  she  is  to  be  my 
lady's  maid.  She  is  only  a  child  and  she  will  feel  strange 
here  at  first  so " 

"I  quite  understand,  my  lady,  I'll  look  after  the  little 
thing  and  make  her  feel  quite  at  home !" 

"Thank  you,  you  do  so  readily  understand  me,  Mrs. 
Crozier." 


HAROLD  SCARSDALE    RETURNS    137 

"It's  easy  enough,  to  understand  your  Ladyship,"  Mrs. 
Crozier  said.  "There  is  always  some  kindly  thought  in  your 
head,  my  lady,  for  others. — I  know  Mrs.  Hanson  slightly,  a 
good  and  very  respectable  woman  I" 

"Will  you  send  one  of  the  men  for  Betty  Hanson's  box 
presently  ?  And  oh  Mrs.  Crozier,  about  the  fourteenth " 

"I'm  making  all  preparations,  my  lady,  Sir  Josiah  will  be 
coming  of  course!"  Mrs.  Crozier  smiled,  she  held  Sir  Josiah. 
in  very  high  esteem. 

"JSTot  a  highly  educated  gentleman,  perhaps,"  Mrs.  Crozier 
had  said  over  a  cup  of  tea  to  Mrs.  Parsmon,  the  doctor's 
wife,  "but  one  of  the  kind,  Mrs.  Parsmon  that  I  call  Nature's 
gentlemen !  That  is  my  opinion  of  Sir  Josiah  Homewood !" 
So  when  Mrs.  Crozier  mentioned  his  name  to  Sir  Josiah's 
daughter-in-law,  she  smiled  in  a  very  kindly  way. 

"Sir  Josiah  will  bring  a  friend,  perhaps  two,  and  my  father 
will  come  of  course,"  Kathleen's  voice  changed  a  little,  as 
it  always  did  in  some  subtle  manner  when  she  spoke  of  her 
father.  Her  face  seemed  to  grow  a  shade  colder,  then  tke 
cloud  passed  and  she  was  smiling  and  thanking  Mrs.  Crozier 
again,  for  her  intended  kindness  to  Betty  Hanson. 

"I'll  see  her  in  the  morning,"  she  said,  "let  her  come  up 
to  me  after  breakfast  and  I'll  have  a  long  talk  with  her,  and 
O  Mrs.  Crozier,  as  she  is  leaving  her  grandmother  so  sud- 
denly, she  may  need  some  things,  clothes  I  mean — I  know 
it  is  not  always  easy  for  a  young  girl  to  get  all  the  clothes 
she  needs" — there  was  a  sad  reminiscent  smile  on  Kathleen's 
face,  "so  will  you  get  anything  for  her  she  may  require  and 
let  me  know  ?" 

"I  will  do  everything,  my  lady." 

The  fourteenth  was  the  date  fixed  for  the  house  warming, 
that  event  that  had  a  little  puzzled  Sir  Josiah.  But  he  quite 
understood  what  it  meant  now,  and  he  was  looking  forward 
to  it  with  much  the  same  feeling  as  a  schoolboy  has  regarding 
the  coming  summer  holidays. 

At  the  old  fashioned  chop  house  in  the  City,   a  table 


138      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

was  regularly  reserved  for  Sir  Josiah,  which  he  some- 
times shared  with  Cutler  and  sometimes  with  Jobson  or 
Cuttlewell,  or  Priestly  (of  Priestly,  Nicholson  and  Coombe, 
those  famous  contractors).  At  that  same  tahle  now,  Sir 
Josiah  bragged  and  boasted  of  the  glories  of  Homewood,  of 
his  daughter-in-law,  Lord  Gowerhurst's  only  child.  How 
he  told  them  of  his  work  at  Homewood  and  of  the  wonders 
of  the  place.  "Historical,  it  is !"  he  said.  "And  that  feller 
Davenham,  I  put  him  in  charge.  I  know  my  limitations, 
Cuttlewell,  no  man  better,  when  it  comes  to  furnishing  in  the 
Period  style  I'll  own  I'm  beat,  but  Davenham  knows,  an 
expensive  man  I'll  admit,  but  what's  money,  what's  money  ?" 

What  was  money  indeed!  Had  not  Sir  Josiah  been  in 
pursuit  of  it  all  his  life,  had  he  not  seemed  to  worship  it? 
Had  not  those  plump  knees  of  his  been  for  ever  bent  to  the 
Golden  Calf? 

"What's  money,  hey  ?"  he  cried.  "Ho !  William,  William ! 
Mr. ' Cuttlewell  will  take  a  glass  of  that  old  port  with  me!" 

And  William,  the  antique  waiter,  of  the  white  side  whisk' 
ers  and  the  ancient  evening  dress  suit  and  the  large  sized, 
untidy  feet,  shuffled  away  to  fill  the  order,  for  their  best  and 
most  respected  customer. 

"I'd  like  you  to  see  the  place,  I  should,  Priestly,  my  boy ! 
My  daughter-in-law,  Lady  Kathleen,  is  giving  a  house  warm- 
ing on  the  fourteenth.  Cutler's  running  down  with  me — 
going  to  take  him  down  in  the  car.  Hang  it,  Priestly,  you 
shall  come!  My  daughter-in-law,  Lady  Kathleen,  says  all' 
my  friends  are  her  friends,  and  she  means  it,  she's  that  sort. 
God  bless  her !  There  isn't  a  truer,  sweeter  woman  on  earth 
and  so — so  I  say  God  bless  her!"  The  tears  came  into  his 
eyes,  they  trickled  down  his  cheek. 

Here  was  honest  pride,  honest  and  unfeigned !  He  lifted 
his  glass  of  por£,  he  beamed  on  them  and  gave  them  the  toast 
from  his  heart.  "My  daughter-in-law,  Lady  Kathleen  Home- 
wood,  God  bless  her!" 

They  smiled  at  him,  they  took  it  good  naturedly,  they  knew 


HAROLD  SCARSDALE  RETURNS  139 

his  worth,  a  sound  man  Sir  Josiah,  good  for  at  least  a  couple 
or  three  hundred  thousand  and  very  likely  for  a  good  deal 
more.  "When  a  man  has  a  credit  good  for  anything  from  two 
to  four  hundred  thousand,  who  will  not  put  up  with  his  little 
ways,  even  though  it  might  he  a  trifle  horing  for  those  who 
had  not  the  pleasure  of  Lady  Kathleen's  acquaintance?  So 
Priestly  was  asked  and  Cutler  and  Cuttlewell  too,  only  un- 
fortunately Cuttlewell  could  not  come,  but  Jobson  could  and 
would ! 

When  the  expansive  moment  was  past,  Sir  Josiah  felt  a 
little  nervous.  Had  he  overstepped  the  limits?  Had  he 
gone  too  far ;  would  it  not  be  encroaching  on  Kathleen's  good- 
ness ?  Conscience  smote  him.  That  he  had  bought  and  paid 
for  the  house,  that  he  was  sending  down  cases  of  wines  re- 
gardless of  cost,  that  he  was  ordering  at  the  big  London 
Stores  with  the  most  lavish  hand  and  purse  in  the  world,  all 
that  mattered  nothing  at  all!  But  would  Kathleen  be  an- 
noyed ?  He  wrote  to  her  and  received  a  letter  that  made  hia 
cheeks  flush  like  those  of  a  school  miss  of  sixteen. 

"Your  friends  are  mine,  bring  them  all,  you  cannot  bring 
too  many,  especially  if  they  are  like  you.  Only  let  me  know 
how  many  rooms  you  want,  dear,  and  believe  me  to  be  your 
affectionate  and  grateful  Kathleen." 

"God  bless  her!"  he  said.  "God  bless  her!"  And  that 
day  he  added  Coombe  to  the  list.  "What  a  time  they  would 
all  have  on  the  fourteenth !  How  he  talked  and  bragged  and 
boasted,  yet  strangely  enough  a  change  had  come  over  his 
boasting,  it  was  not  of  his  Lordship  the  Earl,  and  her  Lady- 
ship, the  Earl's  daughter,  it  was  not  of  the  "historical"  man- 
sion and  the  period  rooms  and  Davenham's  whole  hearted  ex- 
penditure in  the  matter  of  furnishing  the  place,  it  was  of 
"My  daughter-in-law,  Kathleen." 

"Beautiful,  ha,  ha!"  he  laughed.  "I'll  shew  you  real 
beauty!  You  think  Lesbia  Carter  and  Sybil  Montgomery, 
those  actress  girls,  are  beautiful  and  so  they  are,  sweetly 
pretty  girls  they  are,  and  I  don't  say  one  word  against  'em, 


140      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

not  me!  But  when  you  see  my  daughter  Kathleen — Lady 
Kathleen,  then  you'll  see  beauty,  then  you'll  see  goodness  and 
sweet  gracious  womanliness,  my  boy !" 

Cutler  and  Jobson  laughed,  they  had  their  little  jokes  to- 
gether. "The  old  boy  ought  to  have  married  her  himself! 
I'll  bet  you  he's  more  in  love  with  her  than  Allan,  his  SOIL, 
is!" 

"I  know  Gowerhurst,"  said  Coombe.  Coombe  was  a  large 
man  who  smoked  expensive  cigars,  with  the  bands  on  them, 
for  effect 

"Know  him,  I  should  think  I  do.  He  owes  me  a  bit  now ! 
I'll  bet  you  if  he  hears  I'm  going  to — what's  the  name  of  the 
place— Homewood — he  won't  turn  up — catch  him !" 

Lord  Gowerhurst  had  received  his  invitation.  He  had 
not  been  down  to  Homewood,  he  had  no  love  for  the  country, 
ancient  historical  houses  and  early  English  gardens  did 
not  appeal  to  him.  The  house  that  found  the  most  favour 
in  his  sight  was  his  favourite  and  particular  Club,  and  he 
preferred  the  card  room  there  or  the  billiard  room  to  any 
garden  that  ever  bloomed.  But  he  must  go,  he  must  offer 
himself  up  as  a  sacrifice.  Old  Homewood  would  be  there  of 
course  and  his  Lordship  was  not  quite  easy  in  his  mind  about 
certain  speculations  into  which  he  had  been  led.  Lumeyer 
had  induced  him  to  put  five  of  the  twelve  thousand  he  had 
obtained  from  Homewood  into  the  Stelling  Reef  Gold  Mine 
and  his  Lordship  had  heard  bad  accounts  of  that  same  con- 
cern. He  had  tried  to  sell  out  and  had  tried  vainly. 

Lumeyer,  a  densely  black  bearded  man,  with  cherry  lips, 
had  told  him  all  would  be  well,  but  his  Lordship  did  not  be- 
lieve it.  It  might  conceivably  be  possible  that  presently  he 
would  need  old  Homewood's  help  again. 

"Doosid  bore  and  beastly  nuisance!"  he  said.  "But  I'll 
have  to  go,  I  hate  family  parties  and  that  kind  of  thing  and 
Kathleen  hasn't  mentioned  if  there's  a  billiard  room.  Let 
me  see — the  fourteenth  will  be  Friday.  I'll  leave  a  telegram 
with  Parsons,  the  hall  porter  here,  to  send  on  to  me  the  first 


HAROLD  SCARSDALE     RETURNS   141 

thing  Monday  morning,  demanding  my  presence  in  Town. 
Kathleen's  done  well,  doosid  well,  thanks  to  me !  I  don't  like 
the  tone  of  her  letter,  though,  no,  hang  me,  I  don't  like  the 
tone  of  her  letter!  Cold  and  formal,  but  that's  Kathleen, 
takes  after  her  mother !  Doosid  cold  and  doosid  formal,  well, 
well !"  He  paused.  "Whatever  happens  I'll  be  able  to  say 
I  did  the  best  possible  for  my  daughter.  A  man's  got  to  con- 
sider his  family,  I've  considered  mine,  no  one  can  say  to  the 
contrary !" 

It  was  in  the  dining  room  during  luncheon  time  at  his  Club 
that  his  Lordship  was  holding  communion  with  his  own 
thoughts.  He  started  now  at  the  sight  of  a  tall  elderly,  white 
haired,  soldierly  man  who  came  in,  followed  by  a  somewhat 
younger  man — it  was  the  younger  man  who  claimed  his  Lord- 
ship's attention. 

"Who's  that  ?"  he  asked  himself.  "Seen  that  face  before — 
who  the  doose  is  it  now  ?  Not  a  member " 

"Here  Paul!" 

"Yes,  my  Lord?" 

"Paul,  did  you  see  that  gentleman  come  in  ?  Who  is  he  ?" 
"Sir  Andrew  Moly " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  don't  mean  the  old  one,  I  mean  the  younger 
one  with  him !" 

"Don't  know,  my  Lord,  can't  say!  I  haven't  seen  the 
gentleman  before!" 

"Then  find  out !"    The  man  scuttled  off. 

"I — I  know  that  face,  hang  me  if  I  don't — wonder  who  he 
is?"  His  Lordship  frowned,  he  adjusted  his  eyeglass  and 
gazed  across  to  the  little  table  where  Sir  Andrew  Molyneux 
and  his  companion  were  seated. 

"Confoundedly  annoying  to  see  a  fellow's  face  and  not 
know  who  the  doose  he  is !"  His  Lordship  thought  "Hello, 
Paul,  well  ?  Have  you  found  out  ?" 

"Yes,  my  Lord,  I  did,  I  took  the  liberty  of  asking  Mr. 
Marsmith.  I  noticed  Mr.  Marsmith  bow  to  the  gentleman  a3 
he  came  in  and  I  took  the  liberty " 


142      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Yes,  yes,  but  who  is  the  fellow  ?" 

"A  very  important  gentleman,  Governor  of  some  place  as  I 
didn't  catch  the  name  of,  my  Lord,  somewhere  in  America, 
I  should  think  or  the  Indies — I  don't  know  my  Lord,  anyhow 
he  is  Sir  Harold  Scarsdale,  a  very  rich " 

"Bless — my — soul!"  his  Lordship  said.  "Thanks,  that 
will  do,  Paul,  that  will  do!" 

Paul  went  away. 

"Harold  Scarsdale — bless  my  soul!"  He  sat  and  looked 
at  the  younger  man. 

"Altered,  confoundedly  altered,  looks  twenty  years  older, 
and  it  is  only  ten !  Let  me  see,  he  can't  be  a  day  over  thirty- 
five  and  the  fellow  looks  forty-five.  By  George,  there  was 
that  love  affair  between  him  and  Kathleen.  I  remember  it 
well,  Old  Scarsdale,  our  Eector  at  Benningley's  son.  I  re- 
member, by  George  I  do,  had  a  few  words  with  the  young 
fellow,  called  him  a  presumptuous  puppy  if  I  remember 
right,  so  he  was,  by  George !  But  byegones — eh — byegones 
can  be  byegones — Kathleen  was  too  sensible  and  too  cold,  yes 
by  George,  too  cold  to  make  a  fool  of  herself,  turned  him 
down,  very  rightly  and  properly,  I  remember  it  all,  re- 
member catching  him  in  the  garden  at  Bishopsholme,  I  re- 
member a  letter  I  got  hold  of,  of  his,  asking  Kathleen  to  run 
away  with  him,  the  young  fool.  By  George  if  I  remember 
right,  I  made  it  warm  for  him!  And  he  cleared  out,  left 
the  country,  he  seems  to  have  done  well  for  himself,  knighted, 
eh?  Well,  well,  things  change,  the  wheel  goes  round,  one 
man  gets  carried  up,  t'others  get  taken  down.  I'm  t'other," 

he  smiled  grimly.  "I'm  down!  I  think — I  think "  he 

paused.  "I  shall  recall — why  not?  A  rich  man,  Paul  said 
so,  sensible  fellow  Paul.  He  knows  I  always  like  to  un- 
derstand the  financial  position  of  other  folk — I  shall  cer- 
tainly, yes  certainly,  recall  our  earlier  acquaintance!" 

His  Lordship  bided  his  time.  He  waited,  he  had  finished 
his  own  luncheon  some  time  since,  but  he  timed  his  retire- 


HAROLD  SCARSDALE  RETURNS  143 

ment  from  the  dining  room  to  synchronise  with  that  of  the 
other  two. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul,  surely  I  am  not  mistakt/n  ?" 

Sir  Andrew  turned  to  look  at  his  Lordship,  but  this  ex- 
pression of  astonishment  was  not  for  him. 

The  other  man  had  halted,  seemed  to  draw  back,  his  face 
stern  and  grave,  a  handsome  face,  seemed  to  harden  a  shade 
as  the  Earl  thrust  himself  forward. 

"I  surely  am  not  mistaking  my  old  friend's  son,  Harold 
Scarsdale.  If  I  am,  then  believe  me  I  offer  my  sincere  apol- 
ogies, but  I  can  hardly  make  a  mistake !" 

"My  name  is  Scarsdale,  and " 

"Then  you  don't  remember  me,  bless  my  soul,  you  don't 
remember  me,  my  name  is  Gowerhurst !" 

"I  remember  your  Lordship  perfectly !" 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  it  quite  takes 
me  back.  Come,  come,  we  must  have  a  long  talk,  a  long 
talk  together,  eh?  How's  the  world  been  treating  you? 
Well,  I  hope,  if  I  can  be  of  service  to  you,  command  me! 
By  George,  Harold,  I  always  had  a  sneaking  affection  for 
you!" 

"You  managed  to  hide  it  very  cleverly,  my  Lord,  ten 
years  ago! 

"Ha,  ha !  Had  to,  you  know,  had  to !  Doting  father,  that 
sort  of  thing,  couldn't  let  my  little  girl  make  a  bad  match ! 
Hang  it,  if  I'd  been  a  rich  man,  ha,  ha,  I  wouldn't  have  stood 
in  your  way,  but  I  wasn't;  I  was,  and  am,  come  to  that, 
doosid  poor,  and  a  father's  feelings,  Harold,  my  boy,  as  you'll 
know  when  you  are  a  father  yourself,  unless " 

"I  am  not  married !"  said  Scarsdale  quietly. 

"Uo,  no,  quite  right.  Well  as  I  was  saying,  a  father  must 
consider  his  child.  I  may  have  seemed  hard,  a  little  hard 
perhaps,  to  you  that  day,  I  remember  it  perfectly  well,  but 
I  liked  you,  my  dear  fellow,  all  the  time  my  heart  was  bleed- 
ing for  you,  bleeding,  sir !  I  said  to  myself,  can  I,  dare  I  ? 
No,  by  George,  I  can't  and  daren't!  J  can't  see  my  girl 


144     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

scrubbing  her  own  doorstep  and — and  turning  her  dresses 
and  making  her  own  bonnets — I  can't  think  of  it!  So  I 
nerved  myself  to  be  stern,  nerved  myself,  Harold,  and  all  the 
time  my  heart  bled  for  you,  my  dear  lad !" 

"I  remember  very  well,"  Scarsdale  said  quietly,  "that  you 
on  that  occasion  called  me  a  cunning,  scheming,  blackguardly 
young  adventurer,  who  had  dared  to  presume  to  look  far  too 
high,  and  you  were  right,  as  to  the  last,  my  lord,  but  not  as 
to  the  first.  For  I  was  not  cunning  or  scheming,  I — I  loved 
her,  worshipped  her  and  forgot  everything  else " 

"By  George !  and  so  you  did,  so  you  did !  But  I  was  her 
father,  I  had  to  consider  ways  and  means,  eh?  You'd  do 
the  same  yourself,  you'd  have  to !  But  we  can't  talk  here !" 

"I  am  with  Sir  Andrew  Molyneux,  an  old  friend  of  my 
father." 

"Ah !  And  your  father,  dear  old  fellow,  how  is  he  now, 
eh?" 

"He  has  been  dead  four  years,  my  Lord,  and  if  you  will 
excuse  me " 

"Positively  I  must  see  you  and  have  a  chat  with  you  over 
things,  Harold.  You'll  dine  with  me  to-night?  Say  yes!" 
Lord  Gowerhurst  wrung  the  young  man's  hand.  "Come, 
come,  I  can't  take  no — I  positively  refuse  to  take  no !  Hang 
it,  after  all  these  years  old  friends  and  that  sort  of  thing,  we 
can't  pass  like  ships  in  the  confounded  night,  can  we,  eh  ?" 

Sir  Harold  Scarsdale  smiled.  He  had  a  stern,  grave  face, 
but  the  smile  lighted  it  up. 

"To-night  then,  my  Lord,  since  you  wish  it,  here — at  what 
time?" 

"Eight  o'clock,"  his  Lordship  said  briskly,  "and  I  shall 
look  for  you,  it's  been  a  delight,  a  sheer  delight  to  see  you 
again  I" 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

IN   THE  DAWN 

MY  dear  Kathleen,  I  am  looking  forward  with  keen  en- 
joyment to  my  coming  visit  to  your  charming  home. 
That  I  have  not  come  hefore  you  will  easily  understand,  my 
love.  I  am  an  old  fellow  and  my  ways  are  not  your  ways. 
I  am  sensitive,  very  sensitive,  as  I  think  you  know.  To 
have  felt  myself  de  trop  would  have  been  a  cause  of  pain 
to  me.  I  felt  I  could  not  do  it  and  though  my  heart  was 
yearning  for  you  and  though  I  have  often,  a  thousand  times, 
pictured  your  beautiful  home,  its  master  and  mistress,  though 
I,  in  my  solitary  and  none  too  comfortable  rooms,  have  often 
visioned  to  myself  your  delightful  life  at  Homewood,  yet  I 
have  never  intruded.  I  have  been  tempted  many  times.  I 
have  said  to  myself,  I  will  run  down  just  for  the  day,  then  I 
hesitated.  Should  I  be  welcome?  I  know,  I  know,  my 
love,  that  my  dear  daughter's  heart  is  always  affectionately 
inclined  to  her  doting  father,  yet  in  your  new  life,  with 
your  new  interests,  with  your  young  husband,  I  have  won- 
dered, is  there  a  place,  some  nook,  some  corner  for  the  old 
fellow  to  stow  himself  away  in? 

"But  bless  me,  how  I  ramble  on  ?  I  live  a  very  quiet  and 
uneventful  life,  my  appetite  is  not  what  it  was.  I  some- 
times walk  round  to  the  Club  and  try  and  peck  a  morsel  for 
lunch,  but  I  am  not  my  own  man.  I  think  I  feel  my  lone- 
liness. Well,  well,  my  dear,  I  look  forward,  as  I  say,  to  the 
fourteenth  of  this  month,  with  great  expectation  and  hap- 
piness. Now  I  shall  behold  you  in  your  own  home.  I  shall 
behold  my  dear  daughter,  mistress  of  a  good  house,  dis- 
pensing her  and  her  husband's  hospitality  with  the  gracioui 

145 


146      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

courtesy  that  is  the  birthright  only  of  a  woman  of  breeding. 
Give  my  kindly  remembrance  to  your  husband  and  believe 
me,  my  dear  Kathleen,  ever  your  fond  and  devoted  Father, 
Gowerhurst. 

"P.  S.  I  am  taking  the  liberty  of  bringing  an  old  friend 
down  with  me.  I  know  in  such  a  mansion  as  Homewood,  there 
are  many  rooms,  may  I  hope  that  I  am  not  encroaching  in 
asking  that  one  may  be  reserved  for  one  for  whom  you  once 
had  a  kindly  feeling." 

Kathleen  smiled  a  little  and  frowned  a  little  over  this  let- 
ter. It  was  like  her  father,  he  wrote  as  he  spoke.  But  who 
was  the  friend  ?  She  hardly  gave  it  a  thought,  there  were  so 
many  old  friends,  was  there  one  for  whom  she  had  once  had 
a  kindly  feeling?  She  doubted  it  Her  father,  in  the  old 
days,  had  commanded  her  ready  affection  at  all  times  for  any 
opulent  acquaintance  from  whom  he  was  hopeful  of  extract- 
ing money.  This  was  in  all  probability  another  victim.  So 
Kathleen  put  the  letter  aside  and  forgot  all  about  it,  ex- 
cept that  she  asked  Mrs.  Crozier  to  have  another  room  pre- 
pared. 

She  told  Mrs.  Crozier  now,  lest  she  might  forget  it. 

"Oh,  my  lady,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "there's  that  little 
Betty  Hanson  who  came  yesterday,  she  is  waiting  your  lady- 
ship's pleasure." 

"I  had  not  forgotten,"  Kathleen  said.  "Will  you  send 
her  up  to  my  room  §" 

She  smiled  at  Allan.  "My  new  maid,"  she  said,  "the  one  I 
told  you  about,  the  little  girl  from  the  cottage  down  the  road, 
such  a  pretty  little  thing,  I  am  sure  you  will  admire  her!" 

Allan  smiled  when  she  had  gone  out,  he  wondered  if  other 
wives  bespoke  their  husband's  admiration  for  new  maids  in 
this  way?  Then  his  smile  drifted  away  and  he  frowned  a 
little,  had  Kathleen  loved  him — she  would  have  been  more 
jealous  of  his  admiration — loved  him!  How  good  she  was, 
what  a  sweet,  lovely  nature  hers  was,  and  how  utterly  un- 
worthy of  her  was  he! 


IN  THE  DAWN  147 

Had  she  loved  him?  Yet,  why  should  he  wish  for  her 
love  when  he  had  given  her  none  of  his  own  ?  None  ?  No, 
he  did  not  love  her,  not  as  a  man  should  love  the  wife  he  has 
married.  He  liked  her,  admired  her,  respected  her,  ahove  all 
living  women.  She  shared  with  his  father  the  whole  of  his 
heart,  hut  it  was  not  "the  love,"  not  the  passion  of  young 
manhood,  the  worshipping,  devouring,  all  selfish  and  yet  all 
unselfish  love  that  surely  she  was  worthy  to  awaken  in  his 
breast. 

"Betty  I"  Who  had  said  "Betty"  ?  Who  had  uttered  that 
name?  Mrs.  Crozier  of  course,  she  had  told  Kathleen  that 
Betty  Hanson  was  here,  but  the  name  awakened  memories, 
memories  of  that  dream.  "Her"  name  had  been  Betty,  had 
she  not  told  him  with  her  red  lips,  "Thy  Betty,"  she  had 
said,  and  he  had  been  "her  Allan." 

Betty,  nonsense!  This  Betty  would  be  a  big  bouncing, 
red  cheeked,  bold  eyed,  healthy  country  girl !  As  for  Betty 
of  his  dreams,  there  was  no  place  for  her  now  in  his  busy 
life.  There  was  much  to  be  done.  He  had  taken  up  farm- 
ing wholeheartedly,  not  for  ever  would  he  live  on  his  father's 
bounty.  He  would  improve  the  place,  make  it  almost  self- 
supporting.  He  would  prove  to  his  father  and  Kathleen 
that  there  was  something  in  him  and  that  he  was  not  merely 
an  idler  and  a  dreamer.  So  he  filled  his  pipe  and  lighted  it 
and  went  out  to  have  a  long  talk  with  old  Custance  at  One 
Tree  Hill  Farm.  For  Custance,  though  old,  seemed  to  be 
the  most  progressive  man  in  the  place  and  already  he  and 
Allan  had  laid  their  heads  together  and  had  discussed  ways 
and  means  to  wring  money  from  the  fertile  soil. 

Mrs.  Crozier  had  been  very  kind  to  the  timid  and  shy 
girl.  She  had  had  Betty  to  tea  with  her  in  her  own  private 
room,  she  had  introduced  her  to  the  other  servants,  and  had 
kept  a  motherly  eye  on  Betty  till  the  time  came  for  Betty  to 
retire  to  her  own  small  room  in  the  servant's  quarters. 

And  she  was  here!  actually  here,  sleeping  in  this  old 
house,  which  she  had  seen  so  often,  watched  so  often  by  sun- 


148      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

light  and  moonlight.  She  remembered  it  as  it  had  heen  then, 
with  its  hroken  windows,  with  the  ivy  and  the  creepers  grow- 
ing over  it  in  one  great  tangle. 

But  the  garden,  she  had  not  seen  the  garden  yet !  How 
would  it  look  when  she  saw  it  ?  What  terrible  changes  would 
there  be  there  ?  Her  dear  garden,  what  harm  had  they  done 
to  it  ?  How  strange  and  altered  would  it  be  ? 

She  could  not  sleep  that  night,  she  lay  awake  on  the  strange 
unfamiliar  bed,  tossing  restlessly. 

Her  ladyship  had  said,  and  how  sweet  and  good  was  her 
ladyship,  she  had  said  that  the  stone  maiden  was  still  there 
in  the  old  lake,  so  she  would  find  one  familiar  friend. 

After  a  long,  sleepless,  troubled  night  for  Betty,  the  day- 
light dawned  at  last,  and  then  she  rose  and  dressed  very 
quietly  and  before  the  other  servants  were  waking,  she  crept 
down  the  steep  stairs  to  the  kitchen. 

She  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment,  she  seemed  to  know  her 
way  perfectly,  yet  she  had  never  been  inside  the  house  before. 
The  House  had  always  repelled  her,  its  gloom  and  its  silence 
and  its  dust  had  forbidden  any  desire  on  her  part  to  ex- 
plore it.  Yet  now  she  made  her  way  unerringly  through  the 
great  kitchen  through  the  vast  and  cold  scullery,  down  a  long 
passage  till  she  came  to  a  little  door,  a  door  that  she  knew 
must  be  there.  And  it  was  there  and  then  she  drew  a  ponder- 
ous bolt  that  had  been  fashioned  by  a  hand  that  had  been  dust 
for  two  centuries.  She  unfastened  a  huge  lock,  by  a  key 
that  required  all  her  strength  to  turn,  and  so  she  opened  the 
door  and  stepped  out  into  the  garden  as  the  rising  sun  flung 
its  first  ray  of  primrose  and  gold  across  the  heavens. 

Only  two  steps  Betyy  took,  then  stood  still.  The  light  was 
dim  yet,  yet  through  the  grey  mists  she  could  see  it — not  as 
she  had  seen  it  last — yet  as  she  had  seen  it  perhaps  in  her 
dreams.  It  was  all  so  familiar,  not  as  she  had  dreaded, 
strange  and  cold,  but  it  was  as  the  face  of  an  old  friend 
suddenly  grown  young  again,  young  and  beautiful  and  sweet 

Her  garden — yea  it  was  hers!     Changed  and  yet  not 


IN  THE  DAWN!  149 

changed,  even  more  hers,  it  seemed  to  her,  now,  than  had 
been  the  weed  grown,  tangled  desert  she  remembered.  Yet 
she  remembered  that  she  had  seen  it  thus  in  dreams  and  now, 
as  the  sun  rose,  as  the  sky  was  flooded  with  the  glory  of  the 
dawn,  she  saw  her  garden  in  all  its  beauty,  in  all  its  reality, 
as  sometimes  she  had  seen  it  in  those  strange  dreams  that 
had  come  to  her. 

Had  she  not  seen  it  like  this  when  those  figures,  those 
strange,  beautiful,  unreal  figures  of  her  imagination  had 
promenaded  these  old  walks,  those  gracious  ladies  with  their 
strange  old  world  costumes,  their  hair  dressed  so  high  on 
their  heads,  their  tiny  slim  waists,  their  great  bell-like  skirts 
and  their  little  red  heeled  shoes.  Those  men  in  their  rich 
deep  skirted  coats,  their  stockinged  legs,  their  swords,  their 
wigs — all  those  visions  that  had  come  to  her  in  dreams,  had 
they  not  moved  and  lived  in  a  garden  like  this,  this  same 
garden  as  it  was  now,  all  trim  and  sweet  and  gay  with 
flowers  ? 

She  felt  her  heart  pounding,  throbbing,  beating  as  it  had 
never  beat  before.  She  hurried  on  and  on,  down  the  broad 
stone  pathway  to  the  lake  and  there  she  saw  her  little  friend, 
just  the  same  as  always,  the  broken  pitcher  on  her  shoulder. 

So  while  the  sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  Betty  stood 
there  and  nodded  solemnly  to  the  little  stone  figure,  who 
never  nodded  back.  And  then,  turning  to  go  back  to  the 
house  before  the  others  should  know  that  she  had  come  here 
unpennitted,  she  stopped  suddenly  and  uttered  a  little  chok- 
ing cry  of  wonder  and  amazement.  For  from  here  she  could 
eee  the  house,  a  place  of  the  living,  no  longer  a  place  of  the 
dead.  She  could  see  the  curtains  fluttering  in  the  breeze 
at  the  many  open  windows,  she  could  see  the  signs  of  life 
there,  the  primness  and  neatness  of  it  all ! 

And  it  was  all  familiar,  there  was  no  strangeness  to  her 
here,  she  was  looking  at  that  which  her  eyes  had  seen  before 
and  yet  how  could  it  be,  since  she  had  not  entered  this  place, 
since  those  days  before  the  workmen  had  come  to  alter  it  all  ? 


150      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

How  could  it  be?  and  yet  it  was!  And  then  suddenly  she 
turned  and  did  not  know  why,  and  looked  at  an  old  stone  seat 
that  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  great  ring  about  the  sundial. 

Why  had  she  looked  at  it  ?  What  had  she  expected  to  see 
there?  What  she  saw  was  an  old,  old  stone  seat,  grey  and 
brown  and  green  in  the  shadows,  golden  white  where  the  sun's 
rays  touched  it 

And  then,  filled  with  wonder,  filled  with  a  strange  sense 
of  fear,  she  ran  to  the  house  and  so  back  through  the  door 
which  she  bolted  and  barred  after  her,  and  up  the  steep 
stairs  to  her  own  little  room  and  to  sit  on  the  bed  with  her 
hands  clasped  and  her  eyes  staring  into  vacancy,  a  vacancy 
which  yet  seemed  to  hold  many  things,  and  one  thing  she 
saw  very  plainly,  a  man  who  was  young,  a  man  whom  she 
knew  instantly  as  he  whom  she  had  seen  so  often  at  his  work 
in  the  old  garden.  But  now  she  saw  his  face,  and  he  smiled 
at  her,  a  lean,  strong,  sunburned  face,  with  eyes  as  blue  as 
her  own!  How  often  in  those  strange  dreams  had  she  seen 
him,  quaintly  dressed  in  a  suit  of  snuff  coloured  brown,  toil- 
ing at  his  work  with  spade  and  hoe.  "Allan !"  she  said  sud- 
denly. "Allan !"  And  then  she  uttered  a  cry,  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  shivered  suddenly,  for  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  strange  feeling  of  fear,  for  here  was  something 
she  could  not  understand.  "Allan!"  Why  had  she  said 
that  name  ?  What  had  put  it  into  her  mind  and  brought  it 
to  her  lips  ? 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE    DUE  AM    MAIDEN 

IF  Allan  Homewood,  Esquire,  should  by  chance  meet  his 
wife's  maid  or  any  other  servant  on  the  stairs,  or  in  one 
of  the  innumerable  passages  of  the  old  fashioned  house,  it 
was  scarcely  likely  that  he  would  give  more  than  a  passing 
glance  and  more  than  a  passing  thought  to  the  domestic.  If 
little  Betty  Hanson  should  happen  suddenly  on  the  master 
of  the  house  at  a  turn  in  the  passageway,  what  more  be- 
coming than  she  should  drop  her  eyes  demurely  and  go  on 
her  way  ? 

So  while  Allan  and  Betty  Hanson  had  met  perhaps  a 
dozen  times  or  more,  neither  had  really  seen  the  other. 

Allan  was  vaguely  conscious  of  a  small  trim  figure,  and  a 
wealth  of  golden  hair,  which  figure  when  he  came  tapping  at 
the  door  of  his  wife's  room  usually  flitted  out  by  another 
door. 

Betty  took  kindly  to  her  new  duties,  she  was  intelligent, 
she  was  quick  and  she  was  very  eager  to  be  of  service  to  her 
mistress.  Because  she  was  eager  to  learn  she  learned  rapidly. 
Kathleen  was  a  gentle  mistress,  who  never  lost  her  temper 
and  saw  something  rather  pitiful  in  the  young  girl's  evident 
desire  to  please. 

"Poor  little  thing !"  she  said,  "she  is  grateful !"  So  she 
was  more  than  usually  kind  to  Betty  and  the  girl  whose 
heart  was  bursting  with  love  and  gratitude,  would  very  will- 
ingly have  lain  down  and  allowed  Kathleen  to  trample  on 
her. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  little  maid,  Allan  ?  Don't  you 
think  the  child  is  pretty  ?" 

151 


152      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Eh,  your  maid  ?  Oh  yes !"  Allan  said.  "Quite  a  pretty 
little  thing !"  He  was  thinking  of  something  else,  the  four- 
teenth of  the  month  was  weighing  rather  heavily  on  him  and 
his  spirits. 

If  it  had  only  been  his  father  who  was  coming,  or  only 
Kathleen's,  but  that  both  should  come,  that  both  should 
bring  friends  of  their  own  troubled  Allan.  He  knew  that 
his  father's  friends  were  not  likely  to  find  much  favour  with 
his  Lordship.  Allan  had  met  most  of  them,  he  knew  Cutler, 
a  prosy,  self  sufficient,  middle  aged  bore.  Jobson  was  another 
of  the  same  type.  Coombe  was  a  big  man  with  a  loud  voice 
and  vulgar  aggressive  manner.  He  told  interminable  stories 
without  wit  or  point.  They  were  sound  men  in  the  City, 
very  likely,  but  he  dreaded  their  advent  here.  For  his 
father  he  felt  nothing  but  pride  and  affection.  He  knew  the 
old  man's  goodness  of  heart,  his  generous  nature,  his  simplic- 
ity, for  these  he  loved  him  and  honoured  him  above  all  men. 
Let  my  Lorfl  Gowerhurst  sneer  at  that  good  honest  man  if 
he  dared — if  he  dared — in  his,  Allan's  presence.  It  was 
not  of  his  father,  but  of  Cutler,  Jobson,  Coombe  and  Com- 
pany that  Allan  felt  nervous  and  whom  he  worried  about. 

Kathleen  had  told  him  that  her  father  was  bringing  a 
friend. 

"Who?"  Allan  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  Allan,  he  writes,  an  old  friend  of  mine — 
but  I  doubt  it,  very  few  of  my  father's  friends  were  mine — 
I  am  sorry,"  she  said  frankly,  "that  he  is  coming.  I  know 
that  you  do  not  like  him,  Allan,  I  cannot  wonder  that  you 
do  not!"  She  sighed  and  her  head  drooped  a  little. 

And  Allan,  looking  at  her,  felt  his  heart  swell  with  pity, 
for  he  knew  what  that  proud  spirit  of  hers  had  been  called 
on  to  suffer  because  of  her  father,  the  Earl. 

But  was  it  pity  only  that  made  his  heart  swell,  that  made 
him  take  a  step  towards  her,  then  stand  hesitating  ? 

He  turned  abruptly  and  went  out  into  the  garden.  He 
was  puzzled,  uneasy,  uncertain — Life  had  seemed  so  placid, 


THE  DREAM  MAIDEN  153 

the  future  as  well  as  the  present  had  seemed  so  certain,  as 
certain  as  anything  human  could  be.  He  and  Kathleen 
understood  one  another  so  perfectly,  were  such  firm  friends, 
such  tried  companions ;  yet  did  they  understand  one  another 
after  all  ?  Did  he  even  understand  himself  ? 

He  flung  himself  down  onto  the  stone  seat  facing  the  sun- 
dial. He  had  never  been  in  love  in  his  life,  and  therefore 
told  himself  that  he  knew  all  about  it.  Love,  he  believed, 
came  like  a  tempest,  it  swept  a  man  off  his  feet,  it  robbed  him 
of  his  appetite.  It  caused  him  sleepless  nights,  it  drove  him 
to  a  thousand  and  one  follies.  Such  mad,  passionate,  fool- 
ish love  had  never  assailed  him.  He  had  a  good  appetite 
and  he  slept  well  of  nights,  he  did  not  write  poetry,  though 
he  was  rather  fond  of  reading  it,  if  it  were  good.  So  em- 
phatically he  could  not  be  in  love  and  certainly  not  in  love 
with  Ijis  own  wife! 

He  laughed  at  the  thought,  but  the  laughter  was  a  little 
uncertain,  a  little  shaky. 

"I  am,"  he  said  aloud,  "no  more  in  love  with  her  than  she 
with  me.  We  are  the  best  of  friends,  our  lives  together  are 
practically  ideal,  we  have  not  had  one  quarrel  in  all  these 
weeks,  we  are  not  likely  to  have;  how  could  one  quarrel 
with  a  woman  so  gracious,  so  sweet,  so  good  as  Kathleen?" 

He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  stretched  out  his 
long  legs  and  stared  hard  at  his  boots. 

In  love  ?  certainly  not !  and  most  assuredly  not  with  Kath- 
leen, yet  supposing  she  were  to  leave  him,  supposing  he 
must  suddenly  face  life  without  her  ?  He  shuddered  at  the 
thought. 

Then  he  refused  to  consider  the  matter,  to-morrow  was 
the  fourteenth,  to-morrow  would  come  his  father,  God  bless 
him,  with  his  beaming  face,  his  car  probably  packed  full 
of  little  delicacies  and  little  presents,  as  well  as  of  City 
friends,  whose  coming  Allan  distinctly  dreaded,  yet  his  father 
should  not  be  made  aware  of  that.  There  would  be  a  royal 


154      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

•welcome  for  Coombe  and  Cutler  and  Jobson,  for  the  sake 
of  the  dear  old  man  who  brought  them. 

A  telegram  had  been  delivered  by  the  red  cheeked  messen- 
ger from  the  Little  Stretton  Telegraph  office. 

It  was  carried  up  to  My  Lady's  room,  as  Mr.  Homewood 
himself  was  not  visible. 

Kathleen  tore  open  the  envelope,  it  was  from  her  father. 

Womanlike  she.  glanced  at  the  signature  "Gowerhurst" 
first  and  a  faint  hope  came  that  it  was  to  say  his  Lordship 
would  not  be  able  to  come,  but  he  was  coming. 

"Find  trains  serve  badly,  can  you  send  a  car  to  meet  us 
three  fifteen  Longworthy  Station.  Gowerhurst." 

Of  course  they  could  and  must.  Kathleen  sighed  a  little, 
she  glanced  through  the  window  and  saw  Allan  sprawling 
on  the  old  stone  seat  by  the  sundial. 

"Betty,"  she  said,  "take  this  telegram  down  to  Mr.  Home- 
wood  and  ask  him  if  he  will  kindly  arrange  about  it." 

Nothing  was  farther  from  Allan's  thoughts,  at  this  mo- 
ment, than  dreams,  or  memories  of  dreams.  He  had  put 
all  that  nonsense  behind  him,  long  since;  he  had  laughed 
frankly  and  whole  heartedly  when  the  merest  memory  of  that 
strangely  lifelike  dream  had  come  into  his  mind.  If  it  had 
affected  him — and  it  had — it  affected  him  no  longer. 

He  was  thinking  particularly  of  Coombe,  if  only  his  father 
had  contented  himself  with  Cutler  and  Jobson !  They  were 
at  least  quiet  and  unobtrusive,  while  Ccombe — Allan  looked 
up. 

Down  the  wide  flagged  pathway  a  girl  was  coming  to  him. 
About  her  was  the  old  world  garden,  all  bright  and  gay  with 
its  flowers,  and  the  trim  emerald  green  lawn,  all  dappled 
with  sunlight  and  shadows.  Behind  her  was  the  old  house, 
the  casement  curtains  fluttering  in  the  gentle  breeze  and  the 
girl  herself  dajnty  and  light  footed. 

Why  did  he  start  ?  Why  did  he  catch  his  breath  suddenly  ? 
Why  did  his  eyes  dilate  ?  She  wore  no  quaint  old-world  cap 
on  her  gleaming  little  head  of  golden  hair,  she  wore  no  flow- 


THE  DREAM  MAIDEN  155 

ered  gown,  high  waisted  and  cut  low  to  show  the  white 
neck.  No,  she  wore  a  very  simple,  plain  black  frock  with 
a  dainty  white  apron.  But  he  knew  her!  He  knew  her 
and  his  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  as  he  watched  her,  wide 
eyed  with  amazement.  His  outflung  hand  gripped  the  back 
of  the  stone  seat. 

So  she  came  towards  him,  then  as  suddenly  stopped,  she 
stood  there  looking,  looking  at  him  with  the  bluest  eyes  he 
had  ever  seen.  He  saw  a  little  hand  go  to  her  breast  as  into 
her  childlike  face  there  came  a  look  of  wonder  and  of  fear. 

"Betty!"  he  said.  "Betty!"  And  scarcely  knew  that 
he  had  said  it. 

"Allan,  oh  Allan,  I "  and  then  flashed  into  her  face 

a  crimson  tide  of  shame,  she  dropped  her  eyes,  she  stood 
before  him,  trembling  and  abashed. 

What  had  possessed  her  ?  What  madness  was  this  ?  Allan 
— she  had  dared  so  to  call  him,  him  the  master  of  the  house — 
my  lady's  husband ! 

So  the  man  sat,  gripping  the  old  seat,  and  the  girl  stood 
there,  covered  with  shame  and  confusion,  not  daring  to  lift 
her  eyes,  and  silence  fell  on  them  both. 

What  strange  mad  fantasy  was  this?  Should  he  waken 
in  a  moment  to  hear  Dalabey's  voice,  as  once  before?  But 
no,  she  was  real  at  least,  this  little  maid  in  her  black  dress 
and  her  head  crowned  with  its  shining  glory. 

But  she  had  called  him  Allan,  the  name  had  seemed  to 
come  spontaneously  from  her  lips,  as  he  had  called  her 
Betty!  He  felt  shaken,  life  had  suddenly  become  fantastic 
to  him,  nothing  seemed  very  real.  It  was  after  all  a  world  of 
dreams;  this  too,  was  a  dream.  He  could  almost  have  wel- 
comed the  voice  of  Dalabey,  but  it  did  not  come.  So  she 
stood  there,  with  bent  head  and  he  saw  something  fluttering 
in  her  little  hand. 

"You — you  have  brought  me  a  message?"  he  said,  and 
his  voice  sounded  strangely  hoarse  and  discordant. 

"Yes,  sir,  from — from  my  Lady!"     She  dropped  him  a 


156      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

little  curtsey,  lie  could  see  tlie  flush  still  in  her  cheeks,  could 
see  that  it  even  stained  her  white  neck  and  her  little  ears. 
He  rose  and  went  to  her  and  stretched  out  his  hand.  He  hoped 
that  she  would  look  up  but  she  did  not,  never  once  were  the 
blue  eyes  lifted  to  his  own.  Why  had  she  come,  why  had 
she  come?  He  had  not  wanted  her  to  come,  yet  she  had 
come  into  his  life  after  all.  She  was  here,  standing  before 
him,  not  in  the  picturesque  trappings  of  a  byegone  century, 
but  in  her  modern  dress,  still  he  knew  her  well  enough. 

"Betty,  Betty !"  Betty  who  had  kissed  him,  who  had  told 
him  that  she  loved  him. 

He  had  hoped  once  that  he  might  meet  her  in  real  life. 
He  had  pictured  her,  tried  to  dream  that  dream  again,  yet 
had  never  succeeded.  And  now  that  at  last  he  saw  her, 
could  stretch  out  his  hand  and  touch  her,  he  knew  that  it 
were  better  that  she  had  not  come. 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  took  the  telegram  from  her,  yet 
did  not  look  at  her. 

"You  are — Betty  Hanson,  my  wife's  maid  ?" 

The  little  head  seemed  to  droop  lower,  he  could  see  the 
childish  breast  heaving  under  the  pretty  white  apron.  She 
dropped  him  a  curtsey  humbly. 

"You  are  Betty!"  he  said.  "And  you  called  me " 

He  paused. 

"Oh  sir,  oh  sir  forgive  me.  Indeed — indeed  I  du  not  know 
what  made  me,  sir !"  Now  the  blue  eyes  were  lifted  to  him 
in  pitiful  appeal. 

"Indeed — oh  indeed,  sir,  I  didn't  know  what  I  were  say- 
ing! 'Twasn't  as  if  I  myself  spoke,  'twas  as  if — if  summut 
in  me  made  me  say  it — oh  sir — indeed,  I  couldn't  help  it! 
I — I  don't  know  what  made  me  du  it !" 

How  blue  her  eyes  were,  how  they  shone  and  glittered  now 
with  the  tears  that  clung  to  the  sweeping,  upturned  lashes, 
how  pitiful  in  its  appeal  for  pardon  was  the  little  face !  He 
looked  at  her  with  a  feeling  of  pity,  and  yet  not  of  pity 
only.  It  was  she!  the  girl  of  his  dreams,  the  girl  who  had 


THE  DREAM  MAIDEN  157 

come  to  him  and  called  him  "Allan,  her  Allan,"  this  girl  a 
servant  in  the  house,  who  had  come  to  him  this  day  in  real 
life  and  had  called  him  by  his  name. 

What  meaning,  what  strange,  unknown  force  was  behind 
it  all  ?  How  could  he  tell,  still  less,  poor  maid,  how  could 
she? 

"I  am  not  angry,  Betty,"  he  said,  "indeed,  why  should  I 
be  angry  —  with  you  —  for  I  called  you  Betty,  knowing  it 
to  be  your  name,  though  I  did  not  recognise  you  as  Betty 
Hanson,  my  wife'  maid.  Don't  think  of  it  again,  child,  and 
do  not  let  it  trouble  you  !  Perhaps  you  are  right,  it  was  not 
you  yourself  who  spoke  -  " 

"And  you  hain't  angry  wi'  me,  sir  ?"  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head  and  smiled.  Angry  —  angry  with  her  — 
yet  had  she  not  once  before  asked  him  that  selfsame  ques- 
tion? Strangely  he  remembered  clearly  and  distinctly  the 
very  words  "Allan,  Allan,  be  you  still  angry  wi'  your  Betty 
now  ?" 

Perhaps  unconsciously  he  had  muttered  them  aloud,  for 
he  was  startled  to  see  the  look  in  her  face,  the  wonder,  the 
fear,  the  interest  and  strange,  subdued  excitement. 

"What  —  what  made  'ee  say  those  words  ?"  she  gasped.  "Oh, 
what  made  'ee  say  'em  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "Betty,  Betty, 
child,  go  back,  forget  all  this,  it  is  nonsense  —  some  foolish 
dream  that  you  and  I  seem  to  have  shared.  Go  back,  little 
maid,  to  your  mistress  and  your  work  and  forget  -  "  he 
paused,  "forget  that  you  knew  my  name  to  be  Allan  and 
that  I  knew  you  for  Betty  !  Believe  me  it  is  better,  far,  far 
better  so!"  He  smiled  at  her  kindly.  "Don't  think  that  I 
am  angry,  why  should  I  be  angry  ?  It  seemes  to  me.  child, 
that  fate  is  playing  some  strange  trick  with  us,  that  is  far, 
far  beyond  understanding.  We  must  not  try  to  under- 
stand it.  Betty,  better  put  it  out  of  your  mind  and  forget 


"If—  if  I  could!"  she  whispered.     "Oh  if  I  could!" 


158     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"We  must,  both  of  us,"  he  said  sternly.  "We  must  forget; 
what  we  should  never  know !" 

How  pretty  she  was — and  now  that  the  colour  was  in  her 
cheeks,  how  lovely  she  looked  in  the  sunlight  with  the  old  gar- 
den all  about  her !  Kathleen  was  right — a  rarely  lovely  little 
maid  was  Mrs.  Hanson's  granddaughter!  And  as  she  was, 
so  had  been  that  other  maid,  the  maid  of  his  dream,  the  same 
gleaming,  golden  hair,  the  same  delicate  arched  brows — the 
deep  blue  eyes — with  their  wealth  of  uplifted  lashes,  the  fair 
oval  of  her  cheeks,  and  the  red  lipped  dainty  little  mouth 
that  once  had  smiled  on  him  so  kindly  and  not  smiled  only, 
but  had  come  so  willingly  to  meet  his  own  lips. 

"Betty,  there  are  some  things  that  it  is  not  given  to  us 
to  understand,  perhaps  now  and  again  in  the  lives  of  some 
mortals  the  curtain  is  for  a  moment  lifted.  It  may  have 
been  so  with  us,  lifted  and  then  allowed  to  fall  again — and 
when  it  has  been  lifted  only  for  a  moment,  Betty,  it  is  better 
that  we  who  have  been  granted  a  sight  beyond  it,  should 
forget  what  we  have  seen  and  never  let  it  influence  our 
thoughts  or  our  lives.  Can  you  understand  me,  Betty  ?" 

She  nodded  silently,  she  looked  at  him  with  her  glorioua 
eyes  and  in  them  he  saw  to  his  dismay,  his  terror  almost,  the 
same  light,  the  light  of  the  love  he  had  seen  shining  in  the 
eyes  of  his  dream  maiden. 

But  now  she  broke  the  spell,  she  dropped  him  a  curtsey, 
she  was  turning  away. 

"Be  there  any  answer  to  my  lady's  message,  sir  2"  she 
asked. 

"No !"  he  said.    "No,  there  is  no  answer !" 

He  went  back  to  the  stone  seat  and  sat  there,  conscious 
that  life  and  the  world  had  changed  suddenly  for  him.  He 
dropped  his  chin  onto  his  hand  and  sat  staring,  staring  and 
seeing  nothing.1 

He  knew  that  once  he  had  hoped  that  she  might  come  and 
she  had  come  and  now  he  knew  he  was  sorry  and  yet  glad, 
with  a  strange  gladness. 


THE  DREAM  MAIDEN  159 

"Betty!"  he  said  and  said  it  aloud.  "Betty !"  And 

saw  her,  not  as  he  had  seen  her  but  a  moment  ago,  but  as  he 
had  seen  her  that  first  time  in  her  picturesque  flowered  gown, 
so  quaintly  high  waisted,  the  neck  cut  low  to  shew  her  slender 
white  throat,  the  little  mittened  hands  and  the  mob  cap  on 
her  shining  head. 

But  the  face,  the  eyes,  the  lips,  ah!  they  were  the  same! 

He  rose  suddenly  and  seemed  to  shake  himself  mentally 
and  physically.  This  was  real  life,  this  was  the  world  all  about 
him.  There  was  no  time  for  folly  and  for  dreams — to-mor- 
row the  old  house  would  be  filled  withr  visitors.  He  remem- 
bered the  telegram  suddenly  and  found  it  crushed  into  a  ball 
in  his  hand.  He  opened  it  and  smoothed  it  out  and  read  it. 

"It  is  from  my  wife's  father,"  he  said  aloud,  and  then 
repeated  the  words  as  of  some  set  meaning  and  for  some 
known  purpose,  "my  wife's  father  I" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  ROAD   TO   HOMEWOOD 

LONG  ago  before  their  marriage,  Allan  had  promised  to 
tell  Kathleen  if  his  dream  maiden  should  ever  come 
to  him  in  real  life.  And  she  had  come,  yet  he  had  not  told 
his  wife.  To-morrow  the  old  house  would  be  filled  with 
guests.  Kathleen  had  much  to  do  and  much  to  think  about, 
why  trouble  her  now  with  this  foolish  story  ?  After  all  the 
yisitors  were  gone — why  then — perhaps — but  not  now! 

Then  they  would  have  the  old  house  to  themselves,  then 
would  be  the  time  for  confidences,  and  such  foolish  con- 
fidences after  all,  why  tax  her  patience  with  them  now  ? 

As  for  Betty,  it  was  likely  that  he  would  see  the  child 
again,  yet  when  he  saw  her,  what  then  ?  He  would  not  speak 
to  her.  Yet  at  the  very  thought  of  that  fair,  flowerlike  face, 
those  deep  blue  eyes,  something  seemed  to  stir  within  him,  the 
blood  seemed  to  run  more  quickly  in  his  veins,  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  heart  throb,  of  a  subdued  excitement. 

And  now  that  she  was  not  here  before  his  eyes,  he  pic- 
tured her,  not  as.  he  had  seen  her  last,  but  as  he  had  seen 
her  for  the  first  time,  in  quaint  gown  and  mob  cap,  with  mit- 
tened  hands. 

No !  when  the  visitors  were  all  gone,  when  her  father  and 
his  had  taken  their  departure,  when  they  had  the  house  to 
themselves  once  again — then  he  would  tell  her  and  ask  her 
opinion  and  advice.  Perhaps  she  would  send  the  child  away, 
women  did  such  things  he  knew,  he  hoped  that  Kathleen 
would  not.  On  the  whole  he  did  not  think  she  would. 
Kathleen  could  not  be  guilty  of  anything  that  was  small  and 
mean, 

160 


THE  ROAD  TO  HOMEWOOD        161 

She  looked  up  at  him  now  as  he  came  in  with  the  same 
frank  kindly  smile  as  always. 

"You  had  my  father's  telegram,  Allan  ?"  she  said.  "Did 
you  arrange  about  a  car  ?" 

"Yes!" 

"Allan,  it's  very,  very  wrong  of  me,  yet  when  I  saw  the 
message  was  from  my  father  I  almost  hoped  that  it  was  to 
say  he  could  not  come!" 

He  did  not  answer  and  she  went  on. 

"He  has  taken  so  little  interest  in  us  and  the  house,  he 
has  not.  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  run  down,  even  for  an 

hour  to  see  us,  all  these  weeks,  while  your  father "  she 

paused. 

"I  wish,"  he  said,  "that  my  father  was  not  bringing  so 
many  of  his  City  friends,  I  am  afraid  that  his  Lordship  will 
not  approve  of  them !" 

"Your  father  surely  has  a  right  to  bring  whom  he  pleases 
to  this  house  ?" 

"'Yes,  dear,  but " 

"I  wrote  to  him.  I  did  not  tell  you  at  the  time,  I  told 
him  that  all  his  friends  were  welcome  here,  Allan,  if  we  can 
give  him  any  little  pleasure ;  could  we  deny  it  to  him,  after  all 
that  he  has  given  to  us  and  done  for  us  ?  And,  oh !  I  feel 
so  humble  when  I  think  of  him  and  his  goodness.  I  remem- 
ber what  I  used  to  think  of  him,  what  I  used  to  permit  my- 
self to  say  of  him,  before  I  knew  him  as  I  know  him  now.  I 
feel  that  I  can  never  sufficiently  make  amends  for  that!" 

All  that  evening  she  talked  to  him  of  the  visitors  who  were 
coming.  She  herself  had  seen  to  Sir  Josiah's  room,  she  had 
arranged  vases  for  the  flowers  that  she  would  not  cut  until 
the  morning,  so  that  they  should  be  fresh.  It  was  a  sense  of 
duty  rather  than  a  feeling  of  love  that  caused  her  to  put 
flowers  in  her  own  father's  room  too,  for  one  thing  she  knew 
that  he  would  not  appreciate  them.  That  night  Allan  lay 
wakeful.  He  thought  of  Betty  and  thought  of  her  with  a 
sense  of  shame,  yet  with  a  strange  joy. 


162      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

Why  should  it  have  been  as  it  had  ?  "What  meaning  was 
behind  it  all  ?  Was  there  a  meaning  that  he  would  ever  un- 
derstand ?  He  remembered  what  his  father  had  told  him  of  a 
Pringle — an  Allan  Pringle  who  had  married  a  Betty,  maid 
to  the  then  mistress  of  the  house.  It  had  been  a  sad  story,  his 
father  had  said,  the  girl  had  died,  poor  Betty !  He  listened 
to  Kathleen's  sweet  regular  breathing,  he  lifted  himself  on 
his  arm  and  watched  her  sleeping  face  in  the  moonlight  that 
came  in  through  the  widely  opened  window. 

How  good  she  was,  how  white  and  pure  she  looked  lying 
here  in  her  sleep!  He  was  strangely  moved,  his  mind  was 
filled  with  a  great  reverence  for  her,  he  bent  to  her,  he  touched 
her  cheeks  with  his  lips,  so  lightly  as  not  to  waken  her,  then 
he  lay  down  again  and  slept. 

!N"o  holiday  maker  ever  set  out  for  a  day's  pleasuring  with 
keener  anticipation  than  did  Sir  Josiah  this  bright  September 
morning.  He  was  to  call  for  Cutler  on  the  way.  Coombe  was 
driving  his  own  car  and  would  pick  up  Jobson,  they  were  to 
meet  at  the  Chequers  at  Horley,  should  they  not  happen  on 
one  another  on  the  road. 

There  were  a  thousand  and  one  things  to  remember,  a 
dozen  packages  to  stow  away. 

"Mind  that  there  one,  Bletsoe,  my  man,  go  lightly  now !" 

"Very  good,  Sir  Josiah !" 

"And  see  Mr.  Cutler  don't  go  and  put  his  foot  on  it,"  said 
Sir  Josiah,  "and  let  me  see,  one,  two,  three,  four,  that's  all 
right!  One  moment!"  Back  into  the  house  he  dashed,  to 
reappear  with  more  parcels. 

"Regular  old  Santy  Glaus,"  muttered  Bletsoe,  with  a  kindly 
smile,  "like  a  blooming  great  kid  he  is,  going  to  'ave  a  day's 
outing!" 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven — seven's  right, 
and  eight,  that's^  in  my  pocket;  what's  the  time,  Bletsoe?" 

"Gone  ten,  sir!" 

"Bless  my  soul  and  I  promised  to  be  at  Cutler's  at  ten — 
all  right  now,  Bletsoe,  let  her  go!" 


THE  ROAD  TO  HOMEWOOD        163 

How  he  had  racked  his  brain,  what  shops  had  he  not  rum- 
maged, what  shopmen  and  shop  maidens  had  he  not  pestered. 
He  had  sent  down  cases  from  the  wine  merchant,  stores  from 
Messrs.  Whiteley,  hundred  weights  of  pate  de  foie  gras, 
Strasbourg  pies,  chocolates  and  Heaven  knew  what  besides 
from  Messrs.  Fortum  and  Mason's.  That  lengthy  and  evi- 
dently fragile  parcel  he  had  been  so  careful  about  was  a 
beautiful  and  costly  vase.  Something  of  the  Ming  Period  or 
the  Chang  Dynasty,  he  was  not  very  sure  what,  but  it  cost  a 
great  deal.  That  soft  and  pliable  looking  parcel  was  a 
silken  kimono  of  rare  and  wonderful  workmanship.  Those 
square  parcels  were  cigars  and  cigarettes  for  Allan  and  Al- 
lan's friends.  There  he  sat,  this  red  faced,  jolly  old  gentle- 
man, with  a  great  cigar  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  and  he 
beamed  on  the  world  as  his  magnificent  car  whirled  him  up 
one  street  and  down  another. 

And  here  was  Cutler  actually  ready,  standing  in  his  open 
doorway,  Cutler  in  a  new  and  rather  becoming  tweed  suit, 
and  a  soft  felt  hat,  an  unfamiliar  Cutler,  for  Sir  Josiah  had 
never  seen  him  in  anything  but  a  silk  hat  and  a  correct  black 
coat  in  the  City. 

"Hallo  Cutler,  here  we  are,  a  bit  late,  mind  the  parcels ! 
Bletsoe,  take  Mr.  Cutler's  suitcase,  here  we  are,  my  boy, 
lovely  morning,  looking  forward  to  a  delightful  run,  picking 
up  Coombe  and  Jobson  at  Horley.  Get  in,  get  in !  Have  a 
cigar,  no  you  prefer  a  pipe.  I  don't  know  that  you  ain't 
right!" 

And  now  they  were  really  off  and  away.  How  nimbly 
the  big  car  twisted  in  and  out  the  traffic,  how  it  dodged 
cumbersome,  road  monopolising  trams,  how  it  slipped  round 
the  unwieldy  omnibuses !  Then  away  southward  Streatham 
was  passed — here  was  Croydon  with  its  narrow  congested 
streets,  past  Purley  and  Redhill,  down  the  long  hill  some- 
where near  the  foot  of  which  lies  the  village  of  Horley  and 
its  well  known  Inn,  where  Coombe  and  Jobson  would  be 
waiting. 


164      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

What  a  morning,  what  sunshine,  what  a  breeze ! 

"Does  one  good,  Cutler.  Blows  the  cobwebs  away !  Bet- 
ter than  all  your  Doctor's  stuffs,  my  boy !" 

"My  daughter,"  said  Cutler,  "tells  me  that  in  Demauritius, 
of  which  her  husband  is  Governor,  they  have  some  extraor- 
dinarily beautiful  country  and  she  constantly " 

But  Cutler's  reminiscences  are  cut  short,  here  is  the 
Chequers,  and  here  is  Coombe  with  a  tankard  of  beer  in  his 
nand.  He  waves  the  tankard  to  Sir  Josiah  unblushingly  and 
drinks  his  jolly  good  health. 

"And  your  jolly  good  health  too,  Coombe,  my  boy,  what  a 
morning!  What's  the  time!  Eleven — Bless  me,  we  must 
have  dawdled  on  the  way !  Beer !  the  air's  good  enough  for 
me — like  wine,  sir,  wine — the  finest  wine  in  the  world !" 

"Race  you  to  Crawley  for  a  fiver,"  says  Coombe. 

"I — I  trust — Sir  Josiah,"  says  Jobson,  "you  will  not  agree, 
believe  me  Coombe  needs  no  inducement  at  all  to  be  reckless, 
he  nearly  ran  over  an  old  lady  in  Streatham  a  very  respect- 
able looking  old  lady,  in  Croydon  he  butted  into  a  tram 
standard,  and  it  is  a  mercy  we  were  not  all  killed,  and  then 
at  Purley  Corner — a  butcher's  cart " 

But  Coombe's  beer  is  finished,  Jobson  is  bundled  into  the 
car,  Coombe  starts  her  up,  climbs  over  Jobson  and  tramples 
on  his  feet,  seizes  the  wheel  and  away  they  go. 

For  all  Coombe's  boasting  and  reckless  driving,  Sir  Josiah 
and  Cutler  are  in  Crawley  first.  Here  they  swing  away  to 
the  right  to  Horsham  and  leave  the  Brighton  road  for  good. 
From  now  on,  their  road  takes  them  through  the  heart  of 
Sussex,  Sussex  of  the  quaint  wayside  cottages,  with  gardens 
all  blooming  and  fragrant,  Sussex  of  the  chalky  white  roads, 
the  great  undulating  sweeps  of  noble  hills.  Sing  of  Devon 
who  will,  but  can  Devon  shew  such  cottage  gardens,  can  she 
shew  anything  to  compare  with  yonder  glorious  range  of 
downs  ?  Green  downs  on  which  the  passing  clouds  cast  mov- 
ing shadows  of  purple  and  blue,  and  here  and  there  a  gleam 
of  purest  white,  where  the  sunlight  strikes  on  to  the  bare 


THE  ROAD  TO  HOMEWOOD        165 

white  chalk  of  some  cliff  or  cutting.  Where  in  all  the 
world  grows  turf  so  dense,  so  fine,  so  short  and  sweet  and 
perfect  as  here  upon  these  rolling  hills  of  chalk.  Under  the 
hills  the  trees  are  all  glowing  red  and  bronze  and  orange. 
The  car  wheels  swish  among  the  fallen  leaves,  the  children 
come  running  out  of  the  cottages  and  cling  to  the  gates  to 
watch  as  the  cars  go  whirling  by. 

But  they  are  going  at  a  more  sober  pace  now,  the  country 
is  all  too  lovely  under  the  September  sunshine  to  rattle 
through  in  a  cloud  of  chalky  dust.  Sir  Josiah,  eager  as  he  is, 
calls  on  Bletsoe  to  go  more  quietly,  and  it  is  luncheon  time 
when  they  cross  the  river  and  run  up  into  Arundel  Town, 
so  luncheon  they  have  in  the  old  Inn  and  walk  up  the  hill  to 
have  a  look  at  the  castle,  the  home  of  the  Howards,  while 
the  steak  is  grilling. 

And  then  the  last  stage  of  the  journey,  along  the  pleasant 
road  to  Chichester,  Chichester  of  the  old  market  cross,  and 
here  the  cars  swing  to  the  right  towards  Midhurst,  but  the 
end  of  the  journey  is  very  near  now.  The  Midhurst  Road  is 
left  behind,  up  hill  and  down  dale  sweeps  the  narrower  bye- 
way. 

"Here  we  are,  this  is  Little  Stretton!"  said  Sir  Josiah. 
"That's  the  Fighting  Cocks,  many  a  good  meal  I've  had 
there — hello  Dalabey,  how  are  you?  Hello  Crabb,  hello 
Monson!"  He  waves  his  hand,  there  are  smiles  and  bobs 
and  greetings  for  him.  Dalabey  could  not  bow  more  pro- 
foundly if  it  had  been  a  Royal  Duke,  and  he  could  not  have 
felt  more  honest  respect  for.  so  exalted  a  personage  than  he 
did  for  the  red  faced  old  fellow  who  waved  to  him  so  pleas- 
antly from  the  splendid  car. 

"We're  getting  near,  see  that  wall,  that  long  wall,  that's 
Homewood,  see  them — those  gates — those  are  the  Home- 
wood  gates,  they  are  open,  they  are  expecting  us  of  course! 
Drive  in  Bletsoe,  drive  right  in,  blow  the  horn  Bletsoe,  here 
we  are!" 

His  face  is  beaming.    It  has  been  a  jolly  journey,  a  rare 


166      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

holiday  in  the  September  sunshine,  but  perhaps  this  is  the 
most  pleasant  part  of  it  all.  Here  is  Homewood,  the  gates 
stand  open,  they  drive  through,  the  hall  door  stands  open 
too! 

And  here  is  Kathleen ;  she  has  heard  the  wheels,  she  comes 
hurrying  out  No  servants  shall  open  the  hall  door  to  Sir 
Josiah  and  carry  Sir  Josiah's  card  to  the  lady  of  the  house, 
that  would  be  but  a  poor  welcome.  So  my  Lady  Kathleen, 
all  smiling  and  dimpling,  runs  down  the  steps  and  springs 
lightly  onto  the  running  board  of  the  car  and  puts  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  kisses  him  before  them  all. 

"Welcome,"  she  says,  "welcome,  I've  been  watching  for 
you  for  hours !" 

Yes,  this  is  the  pleasantest  part  of  the  whole  journey  after 
all! 


CHAPTER   XXI 

AFTER  TEN   YEABS 

KATHLEEN"  had  looked  forward  to  conducting  Sir 
Josiah  and  his  friends  around  the  house  and  grounds. 
But  though  she  knew  that  he  was  pleased  and  happy  to  have 
her  with  them,  though  he  took  a  delight  in  her  company,  yet 
her  presence  embarrassed  them  all  a  little,  even  Sir  Josiah 
himself.  How  could  he  be  the  showman  when  she  was  near  ? 
How  could  he  tell  Coombe  how  much  money  he  had  spent  on 
this  and  that  ?  How  crush  Cutler  with  the  magnificence  of 
the  rooms  and  dazzle  Jobson  with  the  extent  and  the  beauty 
of  the  gardens  ? 

Kathleen,  with  her  rare  tact  and  intelligence  saw  it  in  a 
moment.  Coombe  had  allowed  his  cigar  to  go  out,  Jobson 
looked  nervous.  Sir  Josiah,  while  he  beamed  on  her,  had 
scarce  a  word  to  say.  Only  Cutler  seemed  to  be  at  his  ease 
and  was  telling  her  about  his  daughter's  establishment  in 
Demauritius,  in  which  island  she  was  the  Lady  of  the  Gov- 
ernor. 

Kathleen  put  her  hand  through  Sir  Josiah's  arm,  she  drew 
him  aside  a  little. 

"I  want  you  to  shew  them  round,  shew  them  everything, 
you  know  so  much  more  about  it  all  than  I  do !  It  is  all  your 
doing,  you  knew  it  as  it  was,  you  can  describe  it  so  much 
better  than  I  can,  and  besides  I'm  terribly  busy,"  she  smiled 
at  him.  "You  know  my  father  is  coming  and  he's  bringing 
some  other  guest  who  I  do  not  know.  Allan  will  be  back 
soon,  he  is  terribly  busy  these  days,"  she  laughed  softly.  "He 
is  at  One  Tree  Hill  Farm  with  old  Mr.  Custance ;  they  have 
great  schemes ;  Allan  is  going  to  make  his  fortune !" 

167 


168      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Bless  me!"  said  Sir  Josiah.     "Allan  is!— well,  well!" 

"So  I  must  run  away,"  she  said.  She  smiled  at  him  and 
hurried  into  the  house. 

But  from  the  window  she  watched  them  with  bright  eyes, 
she  saw  Sir  Josiah  stretch  his  hand,  pointing  this  way  and 
that 

"You  ought  to  have  seen  it,  you  ought,  Coombe.  Derelict 
wasn't  the  word  for  it.  Weeds  that  high,  my  boy ;  now  look, 
look  at  it.  Jobson,  what  do  you  say  to  this  for  a  garden, 
hey  ?  and  you,  Cutler,  you  wait  till  you  see  the  house.  It's 
something  to  see  I  promise  you,  and  six  months  ago,  six 
months  ago,  my  boy,  you  ought  to  have  seen  it  then." 

The  old  man  was  himself  again,  that  tender,  kindly,  loving 
greeting  had  warmed  his  heart. 

"I'll  bet  it  was  her  thought,  keeping  the  gates  open,"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "It's  like  her  to  think  of  little  things 
like  that.  Things  that  make  just  all  the  difference." 

"Tidy  place,"  said  Coombe,  "good  taste,  too;  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  her  Ladyship  had  a  good  deal  to  say  in  the 
management  of  this  garden." 

"Her  ladyship  has  a  good  deal  to  say  in  the  management 
of  everything,"  said  Sir  Josiah,  "and  quite  right  she  should. 
A  place  like  this  is  a  natural  environment  for  her,  while  for 
me  and  my  boy  Allan,  though  he's  twice — "  he  paused,  "twice 
the  gentleman  I  am — "  he  had  been  going  to  say,  but  these 
were  Jobson,  Cutler  and  Coombe,  men  he  kept  up  his  dignity 
with  to  a  certain  extent. 

"What's  the  old  boy  say  to  it,  hey  ?"  asked  Coombe. 

"Old  boy?" 

"The  Earl — Gowerhurst — what's  he  say  to  it  all,  hey?" 

"Oh  he — I  don't  think  he's  been  down  yet,  but  he's  com- 
ing, they  are  expecting  him  to-day." 

"I'll  lay  he  don't  know  that  I'm  here,"  Coombe  said.  "If 
he  did  he  wouldn't  show  up,  not  he." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Sir  Josiah.  "Why  not,  Coombe? 
I'd  like  to  know." 


&FTER  TEN  YEARS  169 

"Honey,  my  boy,  money!  I've  had  dealings  with  his 
Lordship  before.  His  Lordship  knows  me  well  enough ;  bet 
you  a  fiver,  Homewood,  when  the  old  boy  sees  me  he'll  turn, 
green." 

"I  hope,"  said  Sir  Josiah  with  great  dignity,  "that  here 
in  my  daughter-in-law's  house  there  is  not  going  to  be  any 
discussion  about  money  matters.  No  shop,  Coombe,  no  shop. 
We  owe  it  at  least  to  Lady  Kathleen  to  behave  like  gentlemen 
when  we  are  her  guests." 

Coombe  looked  at  the  old  gentleman  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eyes.  "Quite  right,  Homewood,  I  should  be  sorry  to  be 
guilty  of  any  disrespect  to  so  charming  and  kind  hearted  a 
young  lady  I'm  sure.  The  only  wonder  to  me  is  that  such 
a  father  should  have  such  a  child."  Coombe  winked  broadly 
at  Jobson,  a  very  humorous  man,  Mr.  Coombe,  and  fond  of 
his  little  joke. 

And  now  came  Allan,  who  had  been  delayed  by  the  gar- 
rulous but  competent  Mr.  Custance.  He  gripped  his  father 
by  the  hand  and  thrust  his  hand  through  the  old  gentleman's 
arm. 

He  was  kindly  and  courteous  to  Coombe,  whom  he  did  not 
like,  and  to  Jobson  and  Cutler,  whom  he  esteemed  because 
they  were  his  father's  friends. 

"You've  seen  Kathleen,  father  ?" 

"Seen  her,  yes,  why  bless  her  she  was  waiting  on  tHe  steps 
to  welcome  us,  that's  what  I  call  a  welcome,  Allan.  None 
of  your 'Society  manners  with  Kathleen,  no  sending  in  of 
cards  and  being  ushered  in  by  servants.  There  she  was, 
bless  her  pretty  face,  watching  for  us  and  ran  down  the 
steps,  she  did,  and — and  well,  where  have  you  been,  Allan, 
hey  ?  I  hear  you  are  going  to  make  your  fortune." 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  good  try  at  earning  a  bit  of  money, 
father,  and  it  can  be  done;  I'll  talk  to  you  about  it  later. 
Now  come  in  and  have  a  look  at  the  house,  Mr.  Coombe,  I 
am  sure  would  like  something." 

"Ha,  ha!"  said  Coombe.    "Guessed  it  at  once,  Allan,  mjj 


170      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

boy !  I've  just  been  wondering  how  long  it  would  be  before 
someone  made  the  suggestion." 

"I  am  sorry,"  Allan  said  reddening. 

They  went  in.  Kathleen  saw  them  come,  but  she  was 
watching  for  the  other  visitor,  the  other  guest,  whom  she 
told  herself  she  would  not  be  half  so  pleased  to  see  as  the 
guest  who  had  already  arrived. 

She  took  herself  to  task  and  yet  she  knew  that  she  could 
not  try  and  cheat  herself.  Her  father  was  her  father.  It 
was  Fate — respect  for  him  she  had  none — that  she  could  not 
respect  him  had  been  one  of  the  greatest  sorrows  of  her  life. 
Affection  for  him  she  had  but  very  little.  She  knew  him 
too  well,  could  read  him  too  easily,  understood  his  thoughts 
too  clearly  and  she  pitied  him  for  his  utter  selfishness. 

She  knew,  for  she  had  been  old  enough  to  know,  something 
of  her  mother's  sufferings  before  death  came,  not  unwel- 
comed.  He  had  never  been  anything  to  his  wife  in  the  pres- 
ence of  others  except  polite  and  courteous,  then  he  treated 
her  with  his  usual  charm  of  manner,  on  which  he  prided 
himself. 

He  had  neglected  her,  ignored  her  when  alone;  he  stung 
her  and  wounded  her  with  his  sneers,  his  poisoned  darts  of 
contempt  and  contumely.  He  had  never  lifted  his  hand  to 
her,  yet  he  had  killed  her  in  the  end  as  surely  as  the  drunken 
tinker  slays  the  wife  of  his  bosom  with  a  boot  heel  or  the 
kitchen  poker. 

And  Kathleen  knew  much  of  this,  not  quite  all  perhaps, 
but  she  remembered  the  suffering  of  the  quiet,  pale-faced, 
cowed  woman  whom  the  young  girl  had  surrounded  with  a 
worshipping,  adoring  love. 

So  she  stood  watching  and  listening  for  the  coming  of  the 
car.  Who  the  other  guest  might  be,  she  did  not  speculate 
on.  It  was  someone  in  whom  she  felt  not  the  slightest  in- 
terest. In  a  way  she  was  glad  that  her  father  was  bringing 
a  friend  of  his  own  choice.  It  would  be  someone  for  him  to 
talk  to.  Coombe,  Jobson  and  Cutler  would  hardly  prove  to 


AFTER  TEN  YEARS  171 

be  associates  of  whom  hi£  lordship  would  approve.  She  knew 
his  feelings  toward  Sir  Josiah  and  she  felt  a  twinge  of  shame, 
for  in  a  way  she  had  shared  those  feelings  in  the  past. 

His  lordship  was  in  an  ill  humour.  He  disliked  the 
country  intensely.  The  only  occasions  when  he  found  the 
country  at  all  hearable  was,  when  one  of  a  large  house  party, 
there  was  some  shooting  to  be  done  in  the  daytime  and  un- 
limited bridge,  billiards  or  baccarat  to  while  away  the 
night.  That  he  would  not  find  these  amusements  waiting 
him  at  Homewood  he  was  fully  aware. 

During  the  journey  from  London  Bridge  to  Longworthy, 
he  was  fidgety  and  faultfinding.  The  carriage  when  the 
window  was  up  was  too  hot ;  when  it  was  down  the  carriage 
was  draughty,  the  seats  were  dusty,  "a  disgrace  to  the  Kail- 
way  Company."  The  line,  he  maintained,  was  the  very 
worst  laid  line  in  the  Kingdom.  He  was  jolted  to  pieces, 
carriages  worse  sprung  than  this  he  had  never  ridden  in. 

"We  might  have  come  by  car,"  Scarsdale  said. 

"I  hate  cars,  nasty  draughty  things,  I  dislike  the  smell 
of  the  petrol,  the  hot  oil,  the  dust,  I  hate  running  over  chil- 
dren and  dogs.  I'm  deuced  unlucky  in  a  car — never  go  out 
in  one  unless  there's  an  accident;  ran  over  a  child  last  time 
when  I  was  with  Lysart,  shook  my  nerves  up  most  con- 
foundedly. By  George,  Harold,  I  blame  myself,  yes,  I  take 
blame  to  myself,  I  do  by  Gad !" 

"For  running  over  the  child  ?" 

"No,  I'm  thinking  of  Kathleen's  marriage.  I  was  anxious 
about  her,  deucedly  anxious.  Kathleen  was  getting  on,  I 
don't  tell  everyone,  but  you  know,  you  the  friend  of  her 
childhood,  that  Kathleen  isn't  so  young  as  she  was.  Not 
that  she's  gone  off,  not  a  bit  of  it.  I  consider  Kathleen  more 
handsome  to-day  than  ever  in  her  life.  She  comes  of  the 
right  stock,  Harold,  the  Stanwys  wear  well,  the  men  and  the 
women.  My  grandmother,  begad,  was  a  toast  when  she  was 
fifty-five  and  they  say  she  did  not  look  a  day  over  thirty. 
She  was  a  Stanwys  by  birth,  Arabella  Stanwys,  daughter  of 


172      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

Francis — but  this  don't  interest  you.  No,  I  was  speaking 
of  Kathleen.  I  say  that  I  take  blame  to  myself  that  I  hurried 
on  the  wedding,  hurried  it  on.  I'll  admit  it  frankly.  Thoughts 
of  Kathleen  caused  me  sleepless  nights.  I'm  naturally  an 
affectionate  man,  a  man  on  whom  responsibility  weighs 
heavily.  I  realised  my  position,  Harold.  'When  I  am  dead 
and  gone,  Begad!'  I  said  to  myself,  'what  of  Kathleen? 
What  of  my  poor,  dear  child?'  You'd  have  said  the  same 
had  you  been  in  my  place.  Then  I  fell  in  with  Homewood 
in  connection  with  a  Company,  common  old  fellow;  you'll 
dislike  him  intensely  as  I  do,  by  gad !" 

"And  so  you  married  Kathleen  to  his  son  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  felt  I  had  to.  The  girl's  future  troubled  me, 
worried  me  to  death,  Harold.  How  was  I  to  know  that 
you'd  come  back;  how  the  deuce  was  I  to  know  that  you 
hadn't  married  and  settled  down;  how  was  I  to  know  that 
you ?" 

"That  I  had  succeeded  in  life  and  was  in  a  position  to 
offer  Kathleen  a  home  ?"  Scarsdale  asked. 

"That's  it,  that's  it,  begad.  The  very  words  I  was  going 
to  say.  How  could  I  know  all  that?  I  did  not,  I  saw  the 
chance.  Allan  Homewood  isn't  a  bad  fellow,  not  a  gentleman 
of  course;  how  could  he  be  with  such  a  father?  But  quiet 
and  unassuming,  decently  educated,  sensible.  I  was  torn, 
Harold,  torn,  I  confess  now  that  I  thought  of  you — "  the 
tears  came  into  nis  lordship's  fine  eyes,  he  leaned  forward 
and  gripped  Scarsdale's  hand.  "I  thought  of  you,  I  thought 
to  myself,  'If  ever  that  fine  young  fellow  comes  back,  what 
a  blow  to  him,  what  a  blow  P  Yet  how  did  I  know  you  were 
coming  back?" 

"No,  you  were  not  to  know."  Harold  Scarsdale  stared 
out  of  the  window.  "I  wish,  Heaven  knows,  for  many  rea- 
sons, I  had  not  <x>ine  back.  I  might  have  known  that  Kath- 
leen could  not  have  waited,  yet  I  watched  the  papery  I  saw 
no  engagement,  no  marriage  announced  and  I  clung  to  hope, 
then — "  he  laughed  shortly.  "I  ought  not  to  be  here  now, 


AFTER  TEN  YEARS  173 

Lord  Gowerhurst,  it's  the  weakest,  most  foolish  thing  I  have 
ever  done,  yet  you  say  you  wrote  and  told  Kathleen." 

"I  did,  I  did,  'pon  my  honour  I  did,  wrote  to  her  and  said 
I  was  bringing  you  down  and  she  wrote  and  said  she'd  be 
delighted  to  see  you." 

"Which  was  very  kind  and  very  friendly  of  her,"  said 
Scarsdale  with  a  bitter  sneer,  "and  proves  that  she  doesn't 
care  a  hang  for  me  now,  and  in  all  probability  never  did." 
He  laughed  again  and  his  lordship,  not  quite  knowing  why, 
laughed  too. 

Kathleen  was  waiting,  she  heard  the  car  wheels,  the  hoot 
of  the  horn  as  the  car  swung  in  through  the  open  gateway. 
She  could  do  no  less  to  welcome  her  own  father  than  she 
had  done  to  welcome  Allan's.  She  hurried  out  and  descended 
the  steps,  there  was  a  smile  on  her  face,  her  hand  was  held 
out,  then  suddenly  she  stopped.  The  smile  seemed  to  set  on 
her  face,  which  had  grown  rigid,  and  suddenly  very  white; 
the  outstretched  hand  shook  and  fell  to  her  side. 

So  for  a  moment  she  stood  there,  wide  eyed,  conscious  of 
the  violent  throbbing  of  her  heart. 

After — ten  years — and  so  they  faced  one  another  again. 
And  the  man  knew  that  her  father  had  lied  to  him  and  that 
his  coming  was  all  unexpected  by  her. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  just  one  moment,  that 
was  yet  enough  to  betray  her  to  those  keen,  eager,  watchful 
eyes.  Then  she  came  forward,  calmly,  with  an  artificial 
smile  on  her  lips.  She  took  her  father's  hand,  she  kissed 
him,  what  she  said  she  hardly  knew,  she  touched  the  other 
man's  hand.  She  told  him  that  his  coming  was  an  unex- 
pected pleasure. 

Jardine,  the  chauffeur,  holding  open  the  door  of  the  car 
saw  nothing  out  of  the  common.  James,  the  footman,  com- 
ing down  the  steps  to  take  the  rugs  and  handbags,  little 
dreamed  that  here  was  a  meeting  between  lovers  who  ten 
years  ago  had  parted  in  tears  and  an  agony  of  heartbroken 
hopelessness. 


174     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

For  Lady  Kathleen  was  herself  again,  she  was  smiling, 
and  if  the  colour  had  not  yet  returned  to  her  cheeks,  who 
was  to  notice  so  insignificant  a  fact?  Not  James  and  Jar- 
dine,  not  Lord  Gowerhurst  certainly. 

"And  so  this  is  Homewood,  eh  Kathleen?  Quite  a  nice 
little  place;  reminds  me  a  little  of — of  Clamberwick,  Nor- 
mandyke's  seat  in  Cumberland,  but  smaller  of  course,  a 
great  deal  smaller.  Had  some  deuced  good  fishing  there  I 
remember.  Thought  you'd  like  to  see  Harold  again,  hey? 
By  the  way  he  is  Sir  Harold  now,  Governor  of  somewhere 
or  other.  The  world's  treated  him  decently,  yes  decently, 
eh  Harold  ?  And  quite  right  too,  I  like  to  see  a  man  work 
his  way  up  in  the  world." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  Kathleen  said.  "I  am  sure  that 
any  fortune  that  has  come  to  Mr.  Scar — to  Sir  Harold  Scars- 
dale,  has  been  fairly  and  honestly  won — and  thoroughly 
deserved." 

"Ha,  ha,  nicely  put,  very  simply  and  nicely  put,  eh 
Scarsdale?"  said  his  lordship.  "Give  me  your  arm,  my 
dear,  I'm  confoundedly  cramped,  getting  to  be  an  old  fellow 
now.  One  of  these  days  I  may  ask  my  daughter  to  find 
some  corner,  some  out  of-the-way  corner  by  the  fire  for  the 
old  man,  eh  ?  Some  obscure  place  where  the  old  man  may  sit 
and  dream  away  his  last  days.  It's  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  my 
dear,  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  As  I  rode  through  your  beautiful 
country  a  while  ago,  I  saw  the  leaves  all  strewn  on  the  road 
and  I  thought — as  with  the  year,  so  with  me — my  leaves  are 
falling,  all  wrinkled  and  brown.  And  yet  it  seems  but  yes- 
terday since  I  put  them  on  so  fresh  and  green,  hey,  so  fresh 
and  green  and — and " 

He  was  talking  the  arrant  nonsense  he  loved,  in  the  self- 
pitying  style  Kathleen  knew  only  too  well.  She  shivered, 
but  not  with  her^usual  impatience  of  the  humbug  of  it.  How 
had  he  dared — dared  to  bring  this  man  ?  How  had  he  dared 
to  make  friendly  overtures  to  one  whom  he  had  grossly  and 
cruelly,  insulted  ten  years  ago  I  And  Harold  himself  ?  It 


AFTER  TEN  YEARS  175 

shocked  her  to  think  that  he  could  come  here — that  he  could 
bring  himself  to  accept  her  and  Allan's  hospitality.  She  had 
not  looked  at  him  since  that  first  quick  glance,  and  short 
though  that  had  been,  it  had  shewn  her  the  change  in  him. 
The  boy  she  had  known — and  loved — was  gone — this  man, 
she  felt,  she  hardly  knew.  She  asked  herself  even  now,  had 
she  foolishly  made  an  ideal  of  that  lad,  or  had  she  idealised 
her  love  for  him?  she  wondered — but  it  hurt  her  that  he 
was  here  now. 

Lord  Gowerhurst,  leaning  far  more  heavily  than  he  need 
on  her  arm,  entered  the  house.  He  betrayed  no  interest  in 
it.  The  finely  panelled  walls,  the  carefully  selected  and 
diligently  sought  after  "Period"  furniture,  the  vista  from 
the  windows  of  the  wonderful  old  English  garden  in  its 
autumnal  glory,  interested  him  not  at  all.  He  was  talking 
of  himself,  which  was  the  most  interesting  topic  he  could 
think  of. 

"I'm  not  eating  too  well,  my  dear,  a  bad  sign,  hey,  a  bad 
sign,  and  my  sleep  is  broken — terribly  broken.  I  never  was 
one  of  the  "fat  kine"  my  love,  but  I'm  growing  noticeably 
thinner.  I  declare  to  you  that  Crombie,  my  man,  is  posi- 
tively shocked  at  the  falling  off  in  my  girth  and  Darbey, 
my  tailor,  poor  fellow,  is  getting  quite  anxious  about  me." 

Kathleen  told  herself  that  she  ought  to  have  known,  ought 
to  have  anticipated  it,  yet  she  felt  hurt  that  he  took  so  little 
interest  in  her  home.  He  never  looked  at  anything;  he  sat 
down  in  a  delightful  Hepplewhite  chair,  a  chair  that  the 
great  Davenham  had  undertaken  a  seventy-five  mile  journey 
to  secure.  He  sat  down  in  the  chair  and  stared  at  the  very 
pointed  toes  of  his  exquisite  boots. 

"I'm  not  my  own  man,  no,  my  love,  I  don't  wish  to  pain 
you,  I  know  how  sensitive  you  are,  what  a  loving  heart  my 
child  has;  I  don't  wish  to  rouse  one  anxiety  in  your  mind, 
my  love,  but  I  feel  age,  old  age  creeping  on." 

Kathleen  sat  facing  him,  there  was  a  set  smile  on  her  white 
lips.  She  heard  him  and  did  not  realise  one  word  that  he 


17$     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

was  uttering,  perhaps  she  had  heard  it  all  so  often  before 
that  it  was  not  worth  listening  to  now. 

"He  is  here,  he  is  here.  Here  under  this  roof,  here  in  this 
very  room."  The  man  who  had  written  her  those  passionate 
love  letters,  letters  which  she  had  blistered  with  her  tears, 
letters  which  she  had  destroyed  at  last  with  an  aching  heart 
and  feelings  of  reverence  and  solemnity.  How  often,  his 
voice  calling  to  her,  had  come  up  out  of  the  past,  "Kathleen, 
I  love  you.  Kathleen,  come  with  me,  risk  all,  give  all,  dare 
all,  but  come — come  with  me  because  I  love  you  so." 

And  how  nearly,  how  nearly  she  had  said  yes.  Sometimes 
she  wondered  why  she  had  not  said  yes,  for  it  was  in  her 
heart  to  listen  and  to  go — yet  she  had  not,  and  now  he  was 
here. 

Was  she  glad?  No,  no,  no!  Yet  was  she  sorry?  How 
could  she  answer,  how  could  she  tell  ? 

"Darbey,  of  Dover  Street,  you  remember,  my  love,  my 
tailor,  though  Heaven  knows  I  don't  patronise  the  poor 
fellow  one  half  as  much  as  he  deserves.  I  tell  you  Darbey 
was  shocked;  he  said  to  me,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
and  his  voice  shaking  with  emotion,  'My  lord,'  he  said,  'I'm 
sorry  to  tell  your  lordship  that  your  present  measurements 
shew  a  falling  off  of  two  and  a  half  inches  at  the  waist,  it's 
a  serious  thing.'  He  begged  and  besought  me  to  consult  a 
physician,  but  I  did  not.  No,  no,  what  does  it  matter  after 
all  ?  When  I  look  about  me  and  see  your  charming  home — " 
he  had  not  looked  about  him  in  the  slightest  degree,  "then 
I  realise  that  I  have  done  what  I  could.  I  have  seen  to  it 
that  my  child  is — Don't  I  hear  voices,  hey,  Kathleen  ?" 

He  certainly  did,  from  the  adjoining  room  came  Coombe's 
big  bass  voice: 

"Sir  Josiah  JEJomewood  is  here  and  he  has  brought  some 
friends " 

"Friends,  eh !  bless  me,  friends  of  Homewood,  very  inter- 
esting." His  lordship  laughed  a  thin,  cackling,  unpleasant 


AFTER  TEN  YEARS  177 

laugh.  "My  dear  Harold,  I  think  I  can  promise  you  some 
amusement,  Sir  Josiah  Homewood  is " 

"Is  my  husband's  father,"  Kathleen  said,  and  her  cheeks 
suddenly  blazed  with  generous  colour.  "He  is  also  my  very 
dear  friend." 

"And  therefore  entitled  to  the  respect  and  esteem  of  all 
men,"  said  Scarsdale  quietly. 

She  turned  to  him  for  the  first  time,  looked  at  him,  and 
saw  the  many  changes  in  him.  She  looked  for  some  sign, 
something  that  would  recall  the  boy  lover  of  long  ago,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  looked  in  vain. 

"My  husband's  father  has  been  very  kind,  very  generous 
and  good  to  us,"  she  said.  "There  are  few  for  whom  I  have 
a  greater  esteem  and  a  deeper  affection  than  I  have  for  him." 

Coombe,  putting  down  his  empty  glass,  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  saw  the  empty  car  turning  towards  the  Garage. 
He  gripped  Jobson's  arm. 

"The  nobility  and  gentry  have  now  arrived,"  he  whis- 
pered. "This  is  going  to  be  as  good  as  a  play,  Jobson.  Keep 
your  eye  on  me  and  watch  old  Gowerhurst,  I'll  bet  it'll  be 
amusing,  you  watch  out,  Jobson,  he,  he.  Watch  him  turn 
green.  Last  time  I  saw  the  old  boy  he  tried  to  borrow  a 
couple  of  thousand,  but  no  thanks,  not  taking  any,  said  I. 
Securities  too  deuced  rotton — rotten  as  his  own  confounded 
reputation.  Almost  wept  to  me,  the  old  fellow  did,  but 
once  bitten — twice  shy — he  had  four  hundred  out  of  me 
once  and  I'd  like  to  see  the  colour  of  my  money;  a  shark, 
a  confounded  oily  slimy  old  leech,  that's  what  he  is.  Button 
your  pockets  up,  Jobson,  my  son,  when  his  nobility,  the  Earl 
of  Gowerhurst,  is  about  the  premises." 

All  this  was  in  an  undertone  to  Jobson,  who  looked  and 
felt  very  uncomfortable. 

Allan  and  his  father  had  been  talking  in  a  low  voice,  and 
now  Allan  turned. 

"I  think  my  wife  is  with  her  father  in  the  drawing  room ; 
shall  we  go  in  ?"  he  asked. 


178      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Yes,  yes,  let's  go  in,"  Sir  Josiah  said.  "It's  a  long  time 
since  I  saw  his  lordship;  I  trust  his  lordship  is  quite  well." 

"His  lordship  won't  be  so  jolly  well  presently,"  whispered 
Coombe  to  Jobson,  "it's  going  to  be  as  good  as  a  play,  watch 
the  fun."  And  Coombe  winked  at  Jobson  knowingly. 

And  now  the  door  of  the  drawing  room  opened  and  Allan, 
holding  his  father's  arm,  came  in,  followed  by  Jobson,  Cutler 
and  Coombe. 

"The  old  fat  common  fellow;"  thought  his  lordship,  then 
suddenly  remembering  that  in  the  very  near  future  he  would 
in  all  probability  require  the  assistance  of  the  "old  fat  com- 
mon fellow,"  he  rose  and  held  out  a  friendly  generous  hand. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  Homewood.  Looking  well,  posi- 
tively well,  you  are,  ha,  ha,  you  busy  men  with  interests  in 
life,  you're  much  to  be  envied." 

"Allan,"  Kathleen  touched  his  arm.  "Allan,  I  want  to 
present  you  to  a — a  friend,  an  old  friend  whom  my  father  has 
brought  down  with  him."  Her  voice  shook,  yet  so  little  that 
Allan,  unobservant  as  he  was,  noticed  nothing. 

"Sir  Harold  Scarsdale.    My  husband!" 

Allan's  hand  was  thrust  out,  his  face  lighted  with  pleasure 
and  frank  and  friendly  welcome. 

"I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  Sir  Harold,"  he  said,  "it's  kind 
of  you  to  come  to  such  an  out-of-the-world  place  as  this." 

"I've  been  out  of  England  for  many  years,  and  it's  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  see  my  own  country  again  and — and  my 
old  friends."  Scarsdale's  voice  shook  a  little.  Why  had  he 
come,  why  had  he  come  ?  Gowerhurst  had  lied  to  him  vilely, 
when  he  had  told  him  that  Kathleen  was  expecting  him  and 
had  expressed  pleasure  at  the  thought  of  seeing  him;  what 
a  liar  the  man  was. 

And  Kathleen,  how  little  she  had  altered.  The  years  had 
robbed  her  of  nothing,  he  remembered  her  as  a  sweet  faced, 
lovely  girl;  he  saw  her  now  a  radiantly  beautiful  woman. 
Yes,  the  years  had  been  kind  to  her.  How  often  had  he 
thought  of  her,  pictured  her  to  himself.  How  had  he,  many 


AFTER  TEN  YEARS  179 

a  time,  lain  awake  in  the  sweltering  heat  of  the  tropical 
nights  and  tried  to  picture  her,  and  yet  the  reality,  how 
immeasurably  superior  it  was  to  the  vision  his  dreams  had 
conjured  up.  And  while  he  was  thinking  these  things,  he 
was  talking  to  her  husband. 

His  lordship's  calm  superiority  always  made  Sir  Josiah 
feel  a  little  nervous,  made  him  realise  his  own  inferior  sta- 
tion in  life.  He  was  feeling  it  now,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
sensation  of  undue  heat.  He  had  been  cool  enough  five 
minutes  ago  in  the  dining  room,  now  he  was  visibly  per- 
spiring. 

"Yes,  her  Ladyship,  Lady  Kathleen,  was  so  kind  as  to 
ask  us  to  run  down,  me  and  a  few  friends,  ha,  ha.  As  your 
lordship  says  we  busy  City  men  are  much  to  be  envied  in 
one  way,  but  when  it  comes  to  a  holiday — ha,  ha."  He 
paused  nervously.  "We're  always  glad  to  get  a  week-end 
off,  ain't  we,  Cutler  ?  Let  me  introduce  you,  my  lord." 

His  lordship  frowned.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  be  in- 
troduced to  common  persons  like  Cutler ;  Cutler,  the  common 
person,  should  have  been  presented  to  him. 

"Mr.  Cutler,  Senior  Partner  of  Cutler,  Cutler  and  Wake- 
thorpe,  his  daughter  is  Governor  of — of — I  forget  the  name. 
Jobson,  let  me  introduce  Lord  Gowerhurst — "  Sir  Josiah 
went  on,  persisting  in  doing  the  honours  the  wrong  way 
about. 

Monied  men  no  doubt,  rich,  opulent  men,  Lord  Gower- 
hurst thought;  just  as  well  to  keep  in  with  them,  one  never 
knows. 

"How  de  do  Mr. — er — Johnson."  He  held  out  a  finger 
and  Jobson  took  it  and  shook  it  solemnly. 

"Coombe,"  said  Sir  Josiah,  "my  friend,  Mr.  Coombe, 
my  lord." 

"Ah!  ha!"  said  Coombe,  "I've  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing his  lordship  before;  how  de  do,  my  lord?  Hope  I  see 
you  well  ?"  He  held  out  a  large,  red  and  moist  hand. 

Now  was  the  moment,  the  moment  for  Jobson  to  hold  his 


180      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

sides,  the  moment  to  witness  the  discomfiture  of  this  Peer 
of  the  Realm.  Did  his  lordship  start?  Did  he  turn  pale? 
Did  he  tremble  and  turn  green,  as  Coombe  had  prophesied  ? 

No,  he  did  not ;  he  looked  at  Coombe,  he  put  his  monocle 
very  slowly  and  deliberately  in  his  eye  and  took  another 
look. 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  Mr. — er — Groom,  did  you  say  Groom, 
Sir  Josiah?" 

"Coombe,"  said  Sir  Josiah. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr. — er — Coombe,  'pon  my  soul,  I 
don't  recall  the  pleasure."  Very  insolently  his  lordship 
looked  Mr.  Coombe  up  and  down  and  Mr.  Coombe  turned 
red ;  the  joke  was  not  so  good  as  he  had  thought  it  would  be. 

"Langworthy,"  he  said,  "you  remember  Langworthy's 
business,  my  Lord  ?" 

"Langworthy,  really  did  I  meet  you  at  Hansbar,  my 
friend,  Sir  George  Langworthy's  house?  I  haven't  been 
there,  let  me  see,  for  three  years,  and  the  last  timo  " 

"No,  it  wasn't  there  neither,"  said  Coombe  angrily.  "It 
was  in  my  City  Office  I  met  your  lordship  and  it  wasn't 
Sir  George  Langworthy,  it  was  quite  a  different  Lang- 
worthy." 

"Indeed?"  said  his  lordship  politely,  "indeed?" 

Mr.  Coombe's  hot  hand  dropped  to  his  side. 

"I  don't  recall  your  face,  'pon  my  soul  I  am  afraid  I  don't. 
But  one  sees  so  many  faces,  hey  ?  And  now — my  dear  Home- 
wood,  tell  me  all  about  the  wonderful  things  you  have  been 
doing  here."  And  his  lordship  turned  his  back  on  Mr. 
Coombe  with  marked  deliberation. 

Coombe  clenched  his  fists. 

"Supercilious  beast!"  he  muttered.  "I'll  teach  him,  I 
ain't  done  with  him  yet,  not  by  a  long  sight,  I  haven't.  You 
•wait,  Jobson " 

But  Jobson  turned  and  stared  out  into  the  garden  through 
the  window.  He  was  losing  faith  in  the  ability  of  Coombe 
to  make  Peers  of  the  Realm  feel  unhappy. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MB.  COOMBE  WEABS  A  WHITE  TIB 

KATHLEEN"  had  given  them  tea,  she  had  chatted  and 
laughed,  she  had  concealed  every  feeling  and  every 
thought  with  that  skill  that  is  acquired  by  every  intelligent, 
well  educated  woman. 

How  daintily  she  presided  over  the  tea  tray.  Her  white 
hand  never  trembled — was  it  three  lumps  or  only  two  that 
Sir  Josiah  took?  What  a  kind,  friendly  glance  she  flashed 
at  Allan  as  he  took  his  father's  cup  from  her  hand.  How 
should  Allan  know,  how  should  anyone  in  that  room,  save 
perhaps  one,  know  that  every  nerve  in  her  delicate  body  was 
quivering,  that  in  her  heart  there  was  a  mingled  fear  and 
joy,  gladness  and  sorrow,  anxiety  for  the  future,  and  regret 
for  the  past. 

"No  tea  for  me,  child,  the  doctor  positively  forbids  it, 
positively,"  his  lordship  said;  he  sighed.  "No  one  appre- 
ciates a  cup  of  tea  more  than  I,  but  I  am  obliged  to  forego 
it.  One  has  to  give  up  many  things,  eh  Sir  Josiah,  the 
falling  leaf  must  not  be  too  roughly  dealt  with,  else  perhaps  it 
will  fall  even  before  its  time.  No,  no  tea  for  me,  my  love, 
but  if  I  might  beg  a  glass  of  soda  water — just  a  glass  of 
plain  soda  water — with  perhaps  the  merest,  the  very  merest 
touch  of  brandy,  hey  Allan,  just  to  take  the  bite  off  the 
soda  water,  so  to  speak  ?" 

Coombe,  sipping  tea  which  he  had  no  love  for,  eyed  his 
enemy  the  peer,  malevolently.  His  lordship,  he  noticed,  re- 
versed the  programme,  it  was  the  merest  touch  of  the  soda 
water  to  take  the  bite  off  the  brandy. 

"Owes  me  four  hundred  and  treats  me  like  dirt,  hanged 
if  I  don't  bung  a  writ  into  him !"  thought  Coombe. 

181 


182     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

He  happened  to  be  sitting  near  to  Lord  Gowerhurst  and 
presently  his  lordship  adjusted  his  monocle  and  stared  at 
Coombe. 

"Ah,  ha,  Mr.  Groom,  I  think  that  you  were  telling  me 
just  now  that  we  had  met  at  Hansbar,  Langworthy's  place 
in  Somerset  ?  Have  you  known  the  Langworthys  long,  eh  ?" 

"I  didn't  say  anything  of  the  kind,"  Coombe  growled  sul- 
lenly. "I  said " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember,  some  other  Langworthy,  quite  so." 

"I'll  bet  a  shilling,"  Coombe  whispered  under  his  breath, 
'I'll  bet  a  shilling,  my  lord,  as  you  remember  me  a  sight 
better  than  you  pretend  you  do." 

Gowerhurst  regarded  Coombe's  hot  red  face  coldly  and 
critically. 

"I  never,  I  never  remember  anyone  I  prefer  to  forget, 
my  dear  Mr.  Groom,"  he  said.  "It's  an  excellent  plan — eh  ? 
An  excellent  plan,  saves  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  annoy- 
ance, eh?" 

And  now  Kathleen  was  alone,  she  had  come  to  her  room, 
she  had  locked  the  door  on  herself.  She  sat  down  by  the 
window  and  put  her  elbows  on  the  sill  and  rested  her  chin  on 
her  hands. 

He  had  come  back. 

It  had  almost  stunned  her,  its  unexpectedness  and  sudden- 
ness. She  had  not  had  time  to  realise  what  it  all  meant,  all 
that  she  could  realise  was,  that  he  was  here. 

She  saw  herself  now,  as  she  had  been,  a  girl  of  eighteen, 
a  girl  deeply,  desperately  in  love;  she  remembered  how  she 
Lad  lain  through  long,  sleepless  nights,  tossing  on  her  pillow. 
How  willingly  in  those  days  she  would  have  gone  with  him 
into  direst  poverty,  the  deeper  the  poverty  how  much  more 
would  she  have  ^gloried  in  it.  To  tramp  the  roads  by  his 
side,  to  sing  in  the  streets  with  him,  to  crouch  beside  him 
under  some  friendly  hedge  for  the  night — yes,  she  would 
liave  done  that  very  willingly  and  yet — yet  perhaps  common 


MR.  COOMBE  WEARS  A  WHITE  TIE  183 

sense,  perhaps  the  hereditary  instinct  of  her  kind  had  kept 
her  from  such  folly. 

But  she  had  loved  him.  Now,  sitting  here,  she  was  realis- 
ing that  perhaps  she  had  loved  him  more — more  after  he 
had  gone  and  left  her  as  she  believed  forever,  than  she  had 
actually  loved  him  while  he  was  yet  with  her. 

It  is  often  the  way,  when  the  beloved  object  ceases  to  be 
real  and  tangible,  when  he  becomes  a  memory — with  what 
virtues  can  we  clothe  him?  In  memory  we  only  recall  all 
the  good,  the  best  that  was  in  him — memory  charitably  for- 
gets the  numerous  little  faults,  the  tiny  acts  of  selfishness, 
the  little  outbursts  of  foolish  temper.  No,  they  are  all  gone. 
So,  because  he  was  the  beloved  object,  memory  is  eager  to 
idealise  him. 

Perhaps  it  had  been  so  with  her — yet  she  had  loved  him — 
she  had  thrilled  to  the  passion  in  his  boyish  voice,  to  the 
love  in  his  boyish,  ardent  eyes.  A  child's  love,  a  school 
girl's  love,  her  father  had  said.  "My  dear  child,  I'm  a  man 
of  the  world  and  you  are  a  young  Miss  who  has  only  just 
learned  to  do  her  back  hair  up ;  accept  it  from  me,  the  person 
who  marries  his  or  her  first  love  lives  to  regret  it.  First 
love  is  merely  a  kind  of  preliminary  canter,  it's  good  exer- 
cise, provided  you  don't  take  it  too  seriously,  but  if  you  do 
take  it  seriously  why  then  it  is  the  deuce  and  all." 

She  smiled  to  herself,  recalling  her  father's  words.  It 
had  been  her  first  love  and  her  only  love,  it  had  lived  with 
her  for  ten  years  and  during  those  ten  years  it  had  seemed 
to  her  to  have  grown  stronger,  better,  purer.  It  had  perhaps 
made  her  a  little  cold  to  the  world  about  her,  yet  in  reality  it 
had  made  her  heart  more  tender,  had  made  her  more  prone 
to  sympathy  and  tenderness  and  kindness. 

Why  had  he  come,  why  had  he  come  back  ?  She  clenched 
her  hands  tightly. 

The  few  short  months  of  her  married  life  with  Allan  had 
been  quiet  and  peaceful,  uneventful,  happy,  yes  happy !  she 


184     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

Bad  always  liked  him,  she  liked  him  better  now  than  she  had 
before  he  had  given  his  name  to  her. 

She  liked  him  better  and  yet  better  every  day,  she  liked 
him  because  he  confided  in  her,  because  he  was  honest  and 
open  with  her,  because  while  he  lavished  no  caresses  on  her, 
for  would  not  caresses  have  been  humbug  and  hypocrisy, 
he  gave  her  a  quiet  affection  and  respect  that  won  her  heart 
to  him.  He,  had  told  her  of  his  plans  with  old  Custance, 
how  he  would  make  money  and  help  repay  his  father  a  little 
of  the  much  that  his  father  had  done  for  them  both. 

And  then  he  had  promised  once  that  if  ever — ever  love 
came  to  him,  the  love  that  nearly  always  comes  knocking 
at  a  man's  heart  at  some  time  in  his  life,  he  would  tell  her 
candidly  and  truthfully  and  they  would  face  the  fact  to- 
gether. And  she  for  her  part  had  promised  that  she  would 
tell  him  if — the  lover  of  long  ago  should  come  back  into 
her  life. 

And  he  had  come,  and  so  she  must  tell  him,  as  she  had 
promised  to  do ;  she  must  be  honest  and  truthful  with  Allan, 
surely  he  deserved  that  of  her. 

There  was  a  tap  on  the  door  and  Kathleen  rose  and  opened 
it 

"My  lady,  'ee'll  be  wanting  me  ?  I Ve  been  waiting  for  the 
bell,  my  lady,  but  'ee  didn't  ring  it." 

"No,  Betty,  I  didn't  ring,  but — but  come  in.  Betty,  what 
is  the  matter?" 

"Matter  ?    Oh,  my  lady,  nothing  du  be  the  matter  wi'  I." 

"But  your  face  is  white,  child,  and  your  eyes  look  red 
from  crying.  Is  there  anything  wrong,  Betty?  Have  you 
seen  your  grandmother  and  is  she  still  angry  with  you  ?" 

"I  hain't  seen  her,  my — my  lady,  and  I  du  not  care  whether 
her  be  still  angry*  wi'  me  or  not — for  it  be  all  the  same  to  I." 

"You  shouldn't  say  that,  child." 

"For  never,  never  will  I  marry  Abram,  my — my  lady, 
jiever  will  L  Sooner  would  I  drownd  myself  in  the  river, 


MR.  COOMBE  WEARS  A  WHITE  TIE  185 

which  I  would  du  gaily,  aye  gaily,  my  lady,  than — than 
marry  Abram  who  I  never  could  abide." 

Kathleen  smiled.  "There  need  be  no  talk  of  that  now, 
Betty,  surely?" 

"No,  my  lady,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  about  it,  specially 
when  I  du  see  Abram  loitering  about  the  green  gate,  my 
lady,  and  know  he  du  be  waiting  for  I." 

"Then  I  will  see  that  he  is  not  permitted  to  loiter  there, 
as  you  dislike  him  so  much,  Betty." 

"I  hate  him,  I  du,  I  hate  him  mortally,  my  lady,  I  du. 
Oh,  my  lady,  his  hands  du  be  terribul,  terribul;  if  'ee  did 
see  'em  they  would  make  you  shudder  like  they  do  I." 

"But  perhaps  you  dislike  this  poor  Abram  so  much,  Betty, 
because  there  is  someone  else  ?"  Kathleen  asked.  "Is  that  the 
truth,  my  little  maid  ?" 

"Oh,  my  lady,  I — I  doan't  know,  I  doan't  know.  No,  no, 
there  hain't  anyone  else,  no  one  else — I  promise,  I  swear, 
my  lady,  there  bain't,  there  couldn't  be!  How  could  there 
be?" 

Kathleen  took  her  hand,  she  held  it,  it  was  very  hot,  this 
small  hand  of  the  girl's. 

"Betty,  child,"  she  said,  "you  are  not  well  this  evening, 
your  hand  is  hot  and — "  she  lifted  her  hand  to  Betty's  fore- 
head, that  cool,  white,  slender  hand  of  hers,  and  let  it  rest 
there  for  a  moment. 

"And  your  head  is  hot,  too,  child,  you  had  better  go  to 
bed  and  presently  I  will  ring  and  ask  that  something  is 
taken  to  you.  No,  Betty,  don't  wait,  I  can  manage  quite 
well  to-night;  go  to  bed,  child,  and  go  to  sleep  and  forget 
all  your  troubles,  and  if  you  don't  want  Abram,  why  then, 
Betty,  you  shall  not  have  Abram  and  no  one  shall  force  you 
to."  She  pushed  the  silken  fair  hair  back  from  the  girl's 
forehead ;  she  smiled  aj  her. 

"Now  to  bed,  Betty,  and  to  sleep  and  forget  all  your  little 
troubles,  child,  and  to-morrow  come  to  me  with  a  smile  on 
your  lips  as  I  would  have  you," 


186      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Oh — my  lady,  if — if  I  could  only  dare — dare  tell — *ee." 
Betty  cried  passionately.  She  caught  Kathleen's  hand  and 
held  it  with  both  her  own.  "If  only  I  could  dare — — " 

"Dare  what?  Betty,  tell  me,  child,  if  there  is  any- 
thing  r 

"No,  no,  I  can't,  I  be  mad  to  speak  of  it  even — I  think 
I  be  going  mad  altogether,  my  lady,  sometimes  I  du  think  I 
bain't  like  other  maids  wi'  such  foolish  strange  notions  that 
I  get.  I  can't — can't  tell  'ee,  my  lady,  doan't  ask  me,  for 
I  can't — I  can't."  And  then  Betty  flung  the  kind  hand  away 
and  rushed  to  the  door,  fumbled  for  a  moment  with  the  lock, 
and  then  opened  the  door,  fled. 

"And  so,"  Kathleen  said,  "we  all  have  our  troubles,  our 
fears  and  our  loves,  Betty  and  I  and  all  Eve's  daughters." 

She  dressed  herself,  it  was  no  hardship  or  novelty  to  her. 

She  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass  without  vanity,  but 
rather  with  a  curious  interest. 

"I'm  twenty-eight,"  she  said,  "in  a  few  months  I  shall 
be  twenty-nine — yet  I  have  no  wrinkles  and  there  are  no 
silver  threads  yet — I  wonder — I  wonder  does  he  think  me 
much  changed  ?  He  is  changed,  greatly  changed,  yet  I  knew 
him,  of  course  I  knew  him ;  I  should  have  known  him  among 
ten  thousand,  I  should  have  known  him  had  he  come  in  rags 
and  poverty,  just  as  I  knew  him,  now  he  has  come  to  me 
in  his  prosperity  and  health  and  strength." 

She  went  down  the  stairs,  she  went  into  the  drawing  room 
and  found,  as  she  had  almost  feared  she  would  find,  that  he 
was  there  alone.  He  came  forward  eagerly  to  greet  her. 

"Kathleen,  are  you  angry  with  me?" 

"Why  should  I  be  angry,  Harold?" 

"For  coming." 

"It  would  have  been  better,  kinder  to  me  if — if  you  had 
stayed  away."  »% 

"And  kinder  to  myself,"  he  said  bitterly.    "Kathleen,  dc 
do  you  think  that  this  does  not  mean  suffering  to  me  ?" 

"Why  did  you  come?" 


MR.  COOMBE  WEARS  A  WHITE  TIE  187 

"Your  father  told  me  you — you  knew  and  approved,  that 
you  would  be  glad  to  welcome  me." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"But  now  I  know  that  that  was  untrue;  yon  did  not  know 
that  I  was  coming " 

"I  did  not  know,"  she  said.    "No,  I  did  not  know." 

"Kathleen,  Kathleen,  you  waited  so  long,  all — all  those 
years  and  yet  not  quite  long  enough;  another  few  months, 
if  only  you  had  waited  another  few  months,  Kathleen." 

She  turned  to  him  suddenly,  her  face  bright,  her  cheeks 
flushed. 

"You — you  have  seen  him,  my  husband,  you  have  taken 
his  hand,  you — you  are  here,  his  guest — our  honoured  guest 
— the  past  is  dead  and  gone;  I  waited — ten  years — "  her 
voice  broke  for  a  moment,  "then  I  looked  at  your  letters  for 
the  last  time  and — and  burned  them  all,  and  when  I  saw 
their  black  ashes  in  the  grate,  I  knew  that  from  that  moment 
my  new  life  began,  a  life  that  could  not,  must  not,  hold 
memories  of  a  past.  It  was  Fate  and  we — we  must  accept 
it ;  I  have  accepted  it — so  we — you  and  I — we  meet  again — 
as  friends — "  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  she  smiled  at 
him. 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  tightly,  he  looked  into  her 
eyes,  then  he  groaned,  he  bent  his  head  and  kissed  the  hand 
before  he  let  it  go,  and  then  from  beyond  the  door  there  cam« 
the  sound  of  voices,  Coombe's  loud  and  dominant,  argumen- 
tative. 

"Not  wear  a  white  tie  with  a  dinner  jacket,  Jobson?  I 
tell  you  I'll  wear  any  tie  I  like — and  if  people  don't  like  it, 
they  can  do  the  other  thing.  A  black  tie  makes  me  look  lik« 
a  waiter,  by  George,  and  I  won't  wear  'em.  And  if  I  want 
to  wear  a  pink  or  a  sky  blue  tie,  why  hang  it,  I'll  wear  it. 
And  if  it  isn't  the  fashion,  well  I'll  make  the  fashion  like 
that  fellow  Beau — Beau  Brummagem,  or  whatever  his  ooa- 
founded  name  was." 

All  unknowingly  Ooombe  had  struck  the  right  note,  h* 


183     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

had  done  Kathleen  a  service.  !A.  dead  and  gone  love,  burned 
love-letters,  ten  long  years  of  waiting,  of  hoping  and  pray- 
ing and  nothing  to  reward  the  faithfulness  and  the  loyalty-— 
what  mattered  all  that?  Away  with  melancholy  thoughts, 
away  with  sadness  and  regrets — poor  Romance  must  fly  for 
the  moment  and  hide  her  diminished  head  before  the  ad- 
vance of  a  stout  gentleman  in  evening  dress,  wearing  a  white 
tie.  Kathleen  smiled.  Honest  Mr.  Coombe  little  knew  how 
grateful  his  hostess  felt  to  him  at  that  moment. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


LORD  GOWERHURST  justly  prided  himself  on  the 
"Stanwys  manner"  which  he  had  to  perfection.  If 
he  were  formal  he  carried  his  formality  with  grace,  he  was 
studiously  polite,  he  was  courteous,  urbane — and  a  wet 
blanket. 

He  crushed  utterly  those  four  jolly  City  gentlemen,  who 
would  have  been  ten  times  happier  if  his  lordship  and  his 
manner  had  not  been  there.  Sir  Josiah,  seated  on  the  right 
hand  of  his  daughter-in-law,  perspired  freely  from  sheer 
nervousness,  mingled  with  a  kind  of  admiration  and  awe. 
Jobson  and  Cutler  were  noticeably  ill  at  ease,  and  consumed 
by  anxiety  lest  they  might  say  or  do  the  wrong  thing.  Mr. 
Coombe  was  resentful  and  would  have  been  sarcastic  had  he 
dared. 

That  man,  sitting  facing  Mr.  Coombe,  fingering  the 
stem  of  his  wineglass  with  his  delicate  white  fingers,  monop- 
olising the  conversation  with  his  confounded  drawling  aristo- 
cratic voice  and  his  infernal  air  of  superiority,  who  was  he  ? 
Was  not  he  the  same  man  who  one  day  had  come  cringing 
into  his,  Coombe's,  office  hoping  to  raise  a  loan  of  two  thou- 
sand on  some  rotten  securities;  was  not  he  the  same  man 
who  had  well  nigh  wept  when  the  loan  had  not  materialised  ? 

"And  there  he  sits,"  thought  Coombe,  "there  he  sits, 
treating  us  all  as  if  we  were  dirt,  looking  down  on  us,  the 
rotten,  humbugging,  insolvent  old — old — beast." 

No  one  could  find  fault  with  the  dinner,  indeed  his  lord- 
ship gracefully  congratulated  his  daughter  on  the  excellence 
of  her  chef.  Good  Mrs.  Crozier  had  watched  over  everything 

189 


190      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

and  had  seen  to  everything,  and  a  lady  of  her  experience 
was  scarcely  likely  to  allow  a  dinner  to  go  to  table  that  would 
not  be  a  credit  to  the  household  over  which  she  ruled. 

The  wines,  too,  were  above  reproach,  Sir  Josiah  had 
spared  no  expense  in  this  matter,  but  there  was  something 
wrong  with  the  atmosphere,  yes  the  atmosphere  Was  all 
wrong.  Sir  Josiah  could  not  find  one  word  to  say.  Even 
Cutler  was  unable  to  introduce  an  observation  concerning 
the  island  of  Demauritius,  its  Governor  and  the  Governor's 
wife,  his  daughter.  Jobson  was  frankly  and  noticeably  un- 
happy, and  in  his  agitation  had  splashed  his  white  shirt  front 
with  gravy.  Coombe  was  oppressed,  angry  and  bitter,  try- 
ing hard  to  find  something  to  say  that  would  take  the  wind 
out  of  the  sails  of  that  drawling,  dandified,  supercilious 
aristocrat  on  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

Kathleen  had  her  own  thoughts  and  the  subject  of  them 
was  sitting  beside  her  on  her  left,  facing  Sir  Josiah.  She 
could  feel  his  eyes  on  her  now  and  again,  she  tried  to  laugh 
and  to  talk  frankly  and  freely,  but  she  was  conscious  of  a 
weight,  of  a  fear,  of  joy,  she  hardly  knew  what. 

And  Allan,  too,  his  thoughts  had  strayed  away  from  that 
unhappy  dining  table.  They  were  out  in  the  garden,  not 
in  the  garden  as  it  was  now,  all  shrouded  in  the  soft  dark- 
ness of  the  summer  night,  but  in  a  garden  filled  with  sun- 
shine, sunshine  that  touched  and  glorified  a  little  head  of 
gold,  that  lighted  up  a  sweet,  oval  face  and  glistened  on 
eyes  as  blue  as  the  skies. 

"Why,  why,  why?  He  asked  himself  and  could  scarce 
frame  the  question.  How  much  less  the  answer  to  it.  Better 
that  she  should  go,  but  poor  child,  how  unfair  to  her.  Yet 
he  could  not  go ;  how  could  he  ?  And  to  live  here,  under  the 
same  roof,  to  see  her,  perhaps  every  day,  to  have  that  strange 
memory,  which  was  yet  no  memory,  recalled  every  time  he 
saw  her.  How  could  it  be,  how  could  he  be  loyal  to  Kath- 
leen? Why  should  that  girl,  that  child  whom  he  had  seen 
but  once,  mean  so  much  to  him  ?  How  were  their  lives  con- 


"I  BELONG  TO  THEE"  191 

nected;  what  could  some  unknown  past  have  held,  a  past 
that  affected  their  present  and  their  future  so  greatly  ? 

Coombe  had  grasped  the  opportunity.  There  had  come 
a  lull,  Coombe  seized  on  it,  he  began  a  story  in  a  loud  voice. 
It  was  about  a  deal  in  some  shares.  Coombe,  in  his  eager- 
ness to  talk,  grew  involved,  he  floundered.  He  appealed  to 
Sir  Josiah,  Sir  Josiah  who  frowned,  remembering  that  he 
had  instructed  Coombe  that  there  was  to  be  no  "shop." 
Coombe  saw  the  frown  and  got  more  mixed  than  before,  Sir 
Josiah  had  let  him  down.  He  turned  to  Jobson,  but  Jobson 
had  no  help  to  offer. 

"Anyhow,  there  it  was,  Munston  bought  seven  thousand 
and  fifty  and  Lockyer  I  forget  how  many,  and  the  bottom 
fell  out  of  the  market  see,  ha,  ha." 

"Now  that  is  very  interesting,  very  interesting  indeed, 
Mr. — er — Groom — my  dear  Allan,  you  and  I  are  not  busi- 
ness men,  Mr.  Groom  here  is  a  business  man,  it  is  quite 
interesting  to  hear  these  stories,  eh?  Of  course  we  don't 
understand  'em,  Allan,  because,  as  I  say,  we  are  not  business 
men.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  it  is  an  excellent  story,  but 
I  don't  understand  it,  no,  be  gad,  I  don't  see  the  point. 
It's  the  same  with  golfing  stories,  they  may  be  deuced  funny, 
but  when  you  don't  understand  them,  well  you  don't,  and 
that's  all  there  is  to  say  to  it.  Which  reminds  me  of  Nor- 
mandyke — you  remember  the  Duke  of  Normandyke,  my 
love  ?  His  place  at  Clamberwick  was  recalled  to  me  by  this 
little  place  of  yours.  Of  course  your  home,  elegant  though 
it  is,  is  a  mere  cottage  in  comparison;  Clamberwick  is  one 
of  the  great  houses — "  and  so  on  and  so  on,  belittling  his 
daughter's  house  with  cheerful  patronage  and  intense  su- 
periority, till  the  colour  flamed  into  Kathleen's  cheeks,  born 
of  the  generous  indignation  in  her  heart.  She  slipped  her 
hand  under  the  table  and  her  cool  white  fingers  closed  round 
Sir  Josiah's  thick  old  hand,  and  pressed  it  in  silent  sym- 
pathy, love  and  gratitude. 

"I  understand,  my  dear,  I  understand,"  the  old  gentleman 


192      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

whispered.  "This  Clamberwick  may  be  a  great  place,  my 
dear,  and  beyond  an  old  fellow  like  me,  but  I'd  give  you 
ten  such  places  if  I  could,  and  you'd  be  fit  to  reign  over  the 
lot  of  'em." 

"I — I  wouldn't  exchange  Homewood  for  all  the  Clamber- 
wicks  in  the  world.  You  made  it  for  us  and  gave  it  to  us, 
and  I  love  it  for  its  own  and  the  giver's  sake." 

She  would  not  tell  Allan  to-night,  she  watched  Allan. 
He  looked,  she  thought,  a  little  unhappy,  this  house  party 
was  weighing  on  his  mind.  No,  she  would  not  tell  him  to- 
night, she  would  wait  till  after  they  were  all  gone.  She 
would  keep  her  promise,  of  course,  and  when  Harold  Scars: 
dale  had  gone,  when  they  had  bidden  one  another  farewell, 
and  it  would  be  for  the  last  time,  she  would  tell  him  that 
it  must  be  for  the  last  time,  and  as  he  was  a  gentleman  he 
would  understand  and  so — so  when  she  told  Allan,  she 
would  be  able  to  tell  him  that  she  had  seen  the  man  again, 
that  he  had  come  and  gone,  and  this  time  forever. 

She  felt  easier,  lighter  and  happier  now  she  had  made 
up  her  mind.  She  went  to  the  drawing  room  and  played 
and  sang.  Scarsdale,  beside  the  piano,  watched  her,  he 
turned  her  music.  Now  and  again  he  spoke  to  her,  remind- 
ing her  of  some  song  that  called  up  the  past. 

"Won't  you  sing  one  of  them  to  me,  Kathleen  ?" 

"No,  no,  not  to-night,  please  don't  ask  me,  I — I  don't 
want  to  think  of  the  past.  I  told  you — there  is  no  past — I 
burned  it  with  the  old  letters — it  is  ashes  now."  Her  lips 
trembled  as  she  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled  at  him.  "It 
is  better  so,  is  it  not?  'You  know  it  is.  So  to-night  I  shall 
sing  the  new  songs,  the  old  ones  belong  to  the  past  and  are 
dead  with  it." 

"If  I  could  only  think  as  you  think,  or  do  you  think  as 
you  speak,  Kathleen,  do  you  believe  what  you  say  ?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  it,  I  know  it,  it  is  true." 

His  lordship,  having  made  a  very  good  dinner,  had  se- 
lected the  easiest  chair  in  the  room  and  settled  himself  down 


"I  BELONG  TO  THEE"  193 

comfortably.  Sir  Josiah.  and  his  friends  drifted  to  the 
smoking  room  and  their  cigars  and  their  talk. 

His  lordship,  taking  his  ease  in  his  chair,  had  fallen  into 
a  sweet,  refreshing  slumher,  for  which  he  would  have  to 
pay  presently  when  bed-time  came.  Kathleen  was  singing 
at  the  piano  with  this  old  friend  of  hers.  Allan  looked  at 
them  both.  He  did  not  quite  know  what  to  make  of  this, 
old  friend  of  Kathleen's,  this  man  Scarsdale.  He  had  not 
summed  him  up  yet;  on  the  whole  he  thought  he  did  not 
much  like  him.  To-night  Allan  felt  in  no  mood  to  join  his 
father  and  his  friends,  had  Sir  Josiah  been  alone  it  would 
have  been  different.  Kathleen  was  interested  in  her  friend. 
His  lordship  was  asleep,  Allan  crossed  the  room  quietly, 
opened  a  French  window,  and  passed  out  into  the  garden. 

When  a  man  is  face  to  face  with  a  problem,  he  must 
wrestle  with  it,  find  an  answer  to  it  and  act  on  his  own  find- 
ing. A  man  who  thrusts  the  thing  behind  him  and  leaves 
it  all  in  the  hands  of  Fate  is  little  better  than  a  coward, 
and  Allan  Homewood  was  no  coward. 

In  this  garden  he  had  dreamed  a  dream  and  in  that  dream 
there  had  come  to  him  the  sweetest  little  maid  on  whom 
the  sun  had  ever  shone,  and  though  his  eyes  had  never  beheld 
her  before,  yet  he  knew  that  she  came  to  him  as  no  stranger, 
but  rather  as  some  sweet  vision  or  memory  out  of  a  past, 
which  past  had  never  been,  in  this  life  at  least,  and  when 
the  dream  had  gone  he  had  awakened  with  a  feeling  of  loss 
that  had  stayed  with  him  for  many  days  till  at  last  he  had 
managed  to  banish  that  feeling. 

And  now,  now  a  living  girl,  the  very  maid  of  his  dreams, 
had  come  to  him  and  he  had  looked  at  her  and  known  her  for 
the  same,  and  all  the  old  tenderness,  the  love  for  her  had 
come  welling  up  in  his  heart  again.  And  she,  strangely, 
seemed  to  know  him  even  as  he  knew  her.  Had  she  not  called 
him  Allan?  Had  she  not  looked  at  him  with  that  same 
strange  light  in  her  blue  eyes  as  had  shone  in  those  of  the 
little  maid  of  his  dreams  ? 


194      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"What  does  it  mean?"  lie  whispered.  "And  what  am  I 
to  do  ?  Send  her  away  ?  That  would  be  cruel  and  unkind, 
poor  little  soul."  Where  had  she  to  go  to;  why  banish  her 
for  no  fault  of  her  own  ?  And  yet  how  impossible  for  him 
to  go.  But  to  meet  her  every  day/ to  see  those  blue  eyes  of 
hers  with  their  strange  expression,  half  pleading,  half  fear- 
ful— to  know,  for  he  did  know,  and  must  know  that  this 
little  maid  for  some  strange  reason  loved  him,  as  he  must 
love  her.  What  should  he  do?  Would  Kathleen  help  him 
when  he  told  her  as  tell  her  he  must — yes,  he  would  rely 
on  her  sane  judgment,  on  her  generous  nature,  on  her  sweet 
womanliness.  She  would  know  how  to  act;  he  would  place 
it  all  in  Kathleen's  hands  and  all  would  be  well. 

He  felt  relieved  to  think  that  he  had  arrived  at  some 
definite  conclusion.  Kathleen  would — he  paused  suddenly 
and  lifted  his  head. 

From  the  soft  darkness  there  came  to  him  a  sound,  the 
sound  of  sobbing,  as  of  some  child  weeping  bitterly  in  its 
loneliness.  It  touched  him,  for  he  was  tender  hearted  to  a 
fault.  Who  was  it  ?  He  went  on  quickly,  yet  softly,  so  as 
not  to  frighten  or  disturb  the  child.  Ajid  then  he  found 
her,  crouching  on  the  stone  seat,  near  the  sundial,  the  slender 
body  bent,  the  little  hands  clasped  over  her  face.  He  knew 
her  at  once,  he  saw  the  sheen  of  her  hair  in  the  dim  light 
and  stood  still  for  .a  moment,  yet  the  piteous  sobbing,  the 
heaving  of  the  shoulders  hurt  him  and  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  and  touched  her  gently. 

"Betty,"  he  said,  "Betty,  why  are  you  here  and  crying, 
child?" 

She  did  not  start,  she  lifted  her  head  slowly,  her  hands 
dropped,  he  could  see  her  face  dimly,  white  in  the  starlight. 

"Why  do  I  find  you  here  alone,  Betty,  and  weeping?" 
he  asked  gently.  '"Are  you  in  some  trouble  or  suffering?" 

She  shook  her  head  in  silence. 

"Then  why?" 

"Oh,  I  doan't  know,  I  doan't  know,"  she  cried  suddenly, 


"I  BELONG  TO  THEE"  195 

she  flung  out  her  arms  with  a  gesture  of  despair.  "I  doan't 
understand  it  all,  and  it  du  frighten  me,  it  du.  Oh,  I  be 
terribul  frightened  of  it  all,  I  he,  frightened  and  yet — 
glad."  She  looked  up  at  him.  He  could  see  the  oval  face 
more  clearly  now,  the  shining  eyes  and  the  trembling  red 
lips. 

He  took  both  her  hands  suddenly  and  held  them  tightly. 

"Betty,  what  does  it  all  mean?  Can  you  tell  me,  for  I 
do  not  understand?" 

"Nor  du  I  understand,"  she  said.  "Oh,  tell  me,  Allan, 
tell  me,  did  'ee  know  me  when — Oh,  sir — forgiva"  She 
broke  off  suddenly  and  her  head  dropped. 

"Tell  me,  what  were  you  going  to  ask  ?" 

She  lifted  her  head  again. 

"Did  'ee  know  me  as  I  knew  'ee,  yesterday  when  I  came 
here  and — and  found  'ee  here,  Allan?" 

"Yes,  I  knew  you,  I  knew  you,  Betty.  Once  before  in  a 
dream  you  came  to  me  here  in  this  same  place  and  I  cannot 
understand  why  it  should  have  been  so.  No,  I  cannot  under- 
stand." 

"And  it  du  frighten  me  terribul,  terribul,  it  du.  How 
did  I  know  your  name  were  Allan?  How  dared — dared  I 
call  'ee  Allan,  seeing  you  be  my  lady's  husband  and  my 
master,  and  yet  I  could  not  help  myself,  the  name  did  come 
from  my  lips  wi'out  my  knowing  it." 

"And  you  never  saw  me  before  ?" 

"Aye,  many,  many  times." 

He  was  startled.  "You  knew  me,  Betty,  you  had  seen  me 
before,  but  when,  where  ?" 

"Here,  here  in  this  place,  in  this  garden,  but  'ee  was  so 
different  then.  Grandmother  was  angry  wi'  me  for  coming, 
she  said  I  were  a  bad  maid  to  come  here  into  this  old  gar- 
den, all  weed  grown  and  ramy-shackle  that  it  were,  but  I 
came  often — often — and  then  I  used  to  see — 'ee  here,  Allan, 
oh  sir."  She  paused. 


196      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Go  on,"  he  said.  "Go  on,  Betty."  And  still  held  her 
quivering  hands. 

"But  'twas  not  as  a  fine  gentleman  as  I  did  see  'ee,"  she 
went  on,  seeming  to  gain  a  little  in  confidence,  though  her 
voice  was  still  tremulous,  "  'ee  wore  a  queer  old  hat  and 
brown  clothes  and — and  stockings,  and  heavy  shoes  wi'  brass 
buckles  to  'em,  sir,  and  for  the  most  part  'ee  was  working 
in  the  garden,  digging  sometimes,  sometimes  at  work  wi' 
hoe  or  rake,  but  always  working,  bending  over  the  flower  beds 
'ee  were,  and  never,  never  did  I  see  your  face,  sir,  yet  when 
I  did  see  your  face,  I  knew  it  for  'ee." 

"Go  on,  go  on." 

"There's  nothing  more  to  tell  'ee,  sir,  only  that  I,  con- 
trairywise,  came  here  to  the  old  garden  and  climbed  the 
wall,  I  did,  and  sometimes  I  did  come  here  of  nights  when 
the  moon  was  shining  and  it  was  then  I  see  'ee,  sir,  working 
here,  bending  over  your  work — and  I  knew — knew — "  she 
paused. 

"You  knew 2" 

"I  knew  as — as  oh  I — I  can't  tell  'ee,  sir,  I  daren't  tell  'ee." 

"Tell  me,  Betty,"  he  whispered,  "tell  me,"  and  perhaps 
did  not  know  how  much  tenderness  he  had  put  into  his  voice. 

"I  knew  as  'ee  meant  summut  to  me,  sir,  as — as  somehow 
it  seemed  as  if  'ee  belonged  to  me  and  I  to  thee." 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  her  hands  seemed  to  flutter  in  his 
and  he  said  nothing,  could  not,  for  he  did  not  know  what 
to  say,  but  he  realised  that  she  had  put  into  words  that 
which  was  in  his  own  mind,  in  his  own  knowledge,  just  as 
he  had  meant  something  to  her  so  had  she  meant  something 
to  him.  He  had  known  that  in  some  strange  way  they  be- 
longed to  each  other. 

He  spoke,  to  break  the  silence  that  had  fallen  rather  than 
for  any  other  reason. 

"You  were  unhappy  with  your  grandmother?" 

"Terribul,  terribul  unhappy  I  were  wi'  she,  sir,  for  her 
willed  me  to  marry  Abram." 


"I  BELONG  TO  THEE"  197 

"Abram?"  be  asked. 

"Abram,  aye,  Abram  Lestwick,  sir,  whom  I  du  hate  and 
de-test  most  terribul." 

"But  who  is  he?" 

"Grandmother  willed  me  to  marry  him,  sir,  but  I  would 
not  and  she  be  very  wrathful  wi'  I." 

"Poor  little  soul,"  he  said  gently.  "Betty,  it  seems  to 
me  that  strange  and  perhaps  foolish  dreams  have — have 
come  to  both  of  us  here  in  this  old  garden,  and  we  must  put 
those  dreams  out  of  our  minds,  and  face  life,  child,  as  it 
really  is.  Just  now  you  reminded  me  that  I  am  your  lady's 
husband  and  I  am,  and  proud  and  happy  that  so  good  and 
sweet  a  woman  should  be  my  wife " 

"Good  and  sweet  her  be,  there  bain't  none  like  she;  I 
would  die  for  her  willing,  I  would." 

"And  I  think  I  too,  Betty,  and  so — so — "  he  paused  to 
listen — out  of  the  darkness  there  came  voices. 

"Wonderful  air,  isn't  it  ?  I  don't  know  any  air  like  this. 
Get  a  smell  of  the  sea  in  it,  don't  you,  Cutler,  my  boy  ?" 

Allan  dropped  the  little  hands.  He  felt  suddenly  ashamed, 
felt  as  though  he  were  about  to  be  detected  in  some  wrong- 
doing,  and  yet,  Heaven  above  knew,  that  there  had  not  been 
one  wrong  thought  in  his  brain. 

He  would  have  told  her  to  go,  but  it  was  unnecessary. 
Very  quickly  and  suddenly  she  snatched  at  one  of  his  hands, 
he  felt  it  pressed  for  a  moment  against  burning  lips  and 
then  she  had  gone.  He  heard  the  soft  rustling  of  her  gown 
among  the  bushes,  the  light  tap  of  her  little  shoes,  and  then 
the  heavier  stolid  tread  of  his  father's  honest  feet. 

Allan  dropped  onto  the  stone  bench,  and  there,  a  minute 
later  Sir  Josiah  found  him. 

"Why,  who's  here,  Allan,  Allan,  my  boy — is  it  you?" 

"Yes,  father,  come  here  to  dream  in  the  old  garden.  Won't 
you  and  Mr.  Cutler  sit  here  and  finish  your  cigars?" 

He  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying.  He  was  glad  that 
they  had  come,  and  yet  perhaps  sorry  too. 


CHAPTER  XXIV, 

IN  WHICH  LORD  GOWERHUBST  RISES  EATtLY 

HIS  lordship  had  had  a  bad  night.  He  had  gone  to 
sleep  after  his  dinner,  a  foolish  thing  to  do.  He 
had  tossed  and  turned  restlessly  in  a  strange  bed  and  he 
loathed  strange  beds.  Then  after  what  had  seemed  to  be 
interminable  hours  of  sleeplessness  and  misery,  he  had  fallen 
asleep  to  be  awakened  in  apparently  a  few  minutes  by  a 
feathered  chorus  in  the  beech  tree,  just  outside  his  window. 

What  a  noise  they  made,  what  a  commotion  with  their 
piping  and  their  shrill  chattering.  His  Lordship  sat  up  and 
solemnly  cursed  all  birds. 

A  cock  saluted  the  dawn  in  the  customary  manner; 
another,  apparently  some  little  distance  away,  took  up  the 
challenge.  Lord  Gowerhurst  heard  the  crowing  receding 
farther  and  farther  till  it  was  lost  in  the  distance,  then  it 
came  back,  seemingly  step  by  step  to  the  original  cock  that 
was  somewhere  in  his  immediate  neighbourhood.  And  all 
the  time  the  birds  kept  up  their  incessant  twittering  and 
chattering  and  piping  till  the  poor  gentleman's  nerves  were  on 


He  rose,  he  thrust  one  bony  leg  from  the  bed,  then  the 
other.  He  went  to  the  window,  he  shook  his  fist  at  the 
birds. 

"Shoo!  go  away  you  beasts!"  he  shouted.  "Go  away, 
shoo!" 

He  slammed  the  window  down  and  went  back  to  bed,  but 
it  was  useless.  »He  put  his  head  under  the  clothes,  but  he 
could  still  hear  the  babel  of  sounds.  As  the  sun  rose  higher 
so  did  the  sounds  increase;  there  came  the  barking  of  dogs, 

198 


LORD  GOWERHURST  RISES  EARLY  199 

the  lowing  of  cattle  from  the  green  pastures,  a  hen  had  laid 
an  egg  somewhere  and  was  proclaiming  the  fact  triumph- 
antly. Her  husband  shouted  his  joy,  the  other  cocks  took 
up  the  chorus.  It  was  Bedlam  and  Babel  let  loose. 

Added  to  the  other  sounds  of  animal  and  bird  life  came 
presently  fresh  contributions.  A  sleepy-eyed  servant  banged 
a  pail  down  somewhere,  doors  were  being  opened  and  shut 
with  unnecessary  vigour. 

"London,  give  me  London.  It's  the  only  place  in  the 
world  fit  to  sleep  in,  as  for  this  country,  this — "  His  lord- 
ship sat  up  and  exploded  with  wrath  and  profanity. 

He  would  stay  in  bed  no  longer,  bed  was  purgatory ;  it  was 
but  six.  He  had  never  risen  at  six  in  the  morning  in  his 
life.  Frequently  he  had  retired  at  this  hour.  He  rang  for 
hot  water  to  shave. 

At  his  chambers  in  Maybury  Street,  Webster,  his  land- 
lord, valeted  him.  Webster  shaved  him  every  morning  and 
dressed  him  with  the  same  care  as  a  young  mother  bestows 
on  her  darling.  But  Webster  was  employed  during  the  day 
at  his  lordship's  club,  so  had  not  been  able  to  come. 

The  old  gentleman's  hand  shook  very  severely  this  morn- 
ing, he  cut  himself  twice.  He  was  entirely  unhappy  and 
in  the  blackest  of  ill  humours  when  he  went  downstairs. 

Early  as  it  was,  everyone  seemed  to  be  up.  Sir  Josiah, 
rosy  and  cheerful,  came  in  from  the  garden,  looking  ridicu- 
lous with  a  great  armful  of  flowers. 

"Good  morning,  my  lord,  nice  and  early,  eh?  Lovely 
morning,  nothing  like  getting  up  when  the  dew's  on  the 
grass,  eh  ?"  Then  came  Cutler,  followed  by  Coombe,  offen- 
sive in  white  flannel  trousers ;  Kathleen,  looking  as  fresh  as 
the  morning  itself,  came  to  him  and  kissed  him.  She  saw 
his  humour,  she  knew  it  of  old,  the  morning  was  never  his 
lordship's  best  time. 

Happy  he  who  can  rise  in  the  morning  in  a  spirit  of 
kindliness  and  good  humour,  who  commences  the  day  as  he 


200      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

means  to  live  through  it,  in  good  will  and  amity  with  all. 
Thrice  happy  they  who  live  with  such  a  man. 

Kathleen  knew  her  father. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  breakfast  served  you  alone 
quietly  in  my  own  little  room,  dear  ?"  she  asked. 

"Would  I  what  ?  Hang  it !  do  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me  ? 
Am  I  not  good  enough  to  sit  down  to  hreakfast  with  jour 
absurd  friends?  Has  that  gentleman  in  the  white  trousers 
been  attending  a  tennis  party?  It  is  somewhat  early  for 
tennis  parties,  is  it  not?  Barely  seven  yet — is  Homewood 
going  to  decorate  a  Church  or  is  he  merely  masquerading 
as  a  Jack  in  the  Green?  Where's  Scarsdale?  Not  down 
yet?  I  don't  blame  him,  I  never  heard  such  an  infernal 
din  in  my  life — cocks  crowing,  birds  shouting,  dogs  barking 
and — and  cut  my  face  twice,  begad,  twice — which  means  a 
deuced  uncomfortable  day  for  me  and — and — and  your 
father  is  to  be  poked  away  into  a  little  back  room  and  have 
his  meals  by  himself,  is  he  ?  I'm  hurt,  Kathleen,  positively 
hurt ;  had  you  told  me  that  my  society  was  distasteful  to  you, 
had  you  only  told  me  that  you  were  asking  me  out  of  polite- 
ness, begad,  out  of  compliment,  why  then  I  should  have 
stayed  away.  I  feel  it,  I  am  an  old  fellow  and  oversensi- 
tive perhaps,  little  things,  little  unkindnesses  wound  me,  as 
perhaps  a  few  years  ago  they  would  not  As  one  grows 
older  one " 

"Come  into  breakfast,  father,"  she  said,  and  slipped  her 
hand  under  his  arm. 

Scarsdale  came  down  a  little  late.  He  held  Kathleen's 
hand  for  a  moment,  looked  her  in  the  eyes  and  sat  down. 

"I  slept  badly,"  he  said  quietly,  "in  fact  I  could  not  sleep 
at  all,  it  was  strange  to  me  to  realise  that  the  same  roof  that 
sheltered  you — "  he  paused. 

"Tea  or  coffee^"  Kathleen  asked  brightly. 

His  lordship  was  like  a  bear  with  a  very  sore  head,  the 
Stanwys  manner  was  not  in  evidence.  He  growled  and 
cursed  under  his  breath.  He  flung  poisoned  darts  of  wit, 


LORD  GOWERHURST  RISES  EARLY  201 

sneers  and  jibes  at  Coombe  and  they  glanced  harmless  enough 
from  that  gentleman's  toughened  hide,  but  they  went  home 
when  he  turned  his  battery  on  Sir  Josiah. 

"Poisonous  old  devil  he  is,"  Coombe  muttered  to  himself 
as  he  put  away  a  huge  breakfast. 


JL 


CHAPTER  XXVi 

BESIDE   THE   LAKE 

had  all  gone  out  together,  Sir  Josiah  and  his 
Lordship  in  Sir  Josiah's  car,  Mr.  Coombe  and  Mr. 
Cutler  and  Mr.  Jobson  with  a  large  quantity  of  golf  sticks  in 
Allan's  car,  and  Allan  himself  had  gone  over  to  One  Tree 
Farm  to  discuss  intensive  culture,  scientific  pedigree  poultry 
and  pig  raising  and  farm  business  generally;  and  Kathleen 
found  herself  for  the  first  time  alone  with  Harold  Scarsdale. 

She  had  tried  to  avoid  this,  yet  in  some  fashion  she  had 
known  that  it  must  come  sooner  or  later.  She  had  suggested 
that  he  should  go  out  with  the  others,  but  he  had  quietly 
declined.  And  so  if  it  must  be,  well  it  must  be.  If  she  and 
Harold  Scarsdale  must  come  to  a  definite  understanding, 
why  not  sooner  than  later  ?  She  was  a  coward  to  shun  it. 

From  her  bedroom  window  she  saw  him  sauntering  up  and 
down  the  broad  paved  pathway.  That  he  was  waiting  for 
her,  confident  that  she  would  come  to  him,  she  knew,  and 
she  knew  that  she  must  go. 

"Betty!" 

"Yes,  my  Lady?" 

"Sir  Harold  Scarsda,le  is  in  the  garden  ;  will  you  go  down 
to  him  and  tell  him  that  I  will  join  him  soon  ?  There  he 
is,  Betty,  you  can  see  him  from  here." 

"I  see  him,  my  Lady,  and  I'll  go  and  tell  him."  Betty 
turned  away. 

"Betty!" 

"My  Lady?" 

"Betty,  are  you  unhappy,  child?" 

"Unhappy,  on,  my  lady,  I  be  very  happy  here,  indeed  — 
indeed  I  be—  very  happy  I  be,  my  lady." 

202 


BESIDE  THE  LAKE  203 

"You  look  white  and  troubled,  child,"  Kathleen  said.  "Is 
— is  that  man,  is  your  grandmother — troubling  you  ?" 

"No,  my  Lady,  I've  not  seen  Grandmother  since  I  came 
here." 

"AndLestwick?" 

"Abram  du  hang  about  waiting  for  I,  my  Lady,  Polly  Ran- 
som have  told  me  that  Abram  du  continually  be  hanging 
about  the  green  door,  my  Lady,  but  I  doan't  go  out  and  so  I 
du  never  see  he." 

"I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Homewood  about  it  and  ask  him  to 
interview  this  Lestwick  and  tell  him  to  keep  away  from  here, 
for  I  will  not  have  you  worried  and  troubled,  Betty.  Now 
run  down,  child,  and  tell  Sir  Harold." 

Scarsdale  paced  up  and  down  in  the  warm  sunlight,  wait- 
ing, as  years  ago  he  had  waited  in  another  garden  for  the 
coming  of  his  beloved. 

And  presently  she  would  come  to  him,  he  did  not  doubt 
that.  He  turned  now  at  the  sound  of  a  light  step,  but  it 
was  not  she,  he  knew  that — who,  who  loves,  does  not  know 
the  step  of  the  beloved  one?  Is  it  not  different  from  all 
other  footfalls  in  the  world,  as  different  as  'her*  voice  is 
different  from  all  other  voices.  A  man  usually  knows  the 
step  of  the  woman  he  loves,  but  a  woman  always  knows  the 
step  of  her  man.  Scarsdale,  turning  slowly,  knew  full  well 
that  it  was  not  Kathleen.  A  stern,  silent  man  was  he,  mis- 
judged by  many  who  thought  him  cold  and  even  heartless. 
Men  found  but  little  pleasure  in  his  society,  women  none, 
for  he  had  neither  heart  nor  admiration  to  give  them.  He 
had  looked  at  beautiful  women  and  had  failed  to  see  their 
beauty,  because  only  one  face  was  beautiful  in  his  sight. 
But  this  little  maid  tripping  to  him  so  demurely  in  the  sun- 
light was  pretty  enough  to  win  an  unaccustomed  smile  to  his 
lips. 

What  a  pretty  child  she  was,  a  fit  handmaiden  for  Her ! 

"You  want  me?"  he  asked,  and  his  voice  was  a  little 
more  gentle  than  usual. 


204      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

She  dropped  him  a  curtsey,  "My  Lady  sent  me  to  say 
that  she  would  be  here  in  the  garden  very  soon,  sir." 

"Thank  you."  He  stood  looking  at  her,  at  the  pretty, 
downcast  face.  He  looked  after  her  when  she  had  turned 
back  towards  the  house.  A  pretty  little  country  girl  with  a 
sweet  voice,  he  thought,  and  then,  even  before  she  had 
whisked  out  of  sight  behind  a  door,  he  had  forgotten  her  and 
his  thoughts  had  gone  back  to  the  one  to  whom  they  were 
constant. 

She  was  coming,  and  when  she  came  what  should  he  say 
to  her?  Just  as  ten  years  ago  he  had  watched  and  waited 
for  her  in  another  garden,  his  heart  filled  with  love  for  her, 
so  he  was  watching  and  waiting  now  and  his  love  was  the 
same,  no— not  the  same,  for,  even  he,  was  conscious  of  its 
change.  But  it  was  no  less,  it  was  even  more,  it  was  greater, 
it  burned  with  a  stronger  flame,  a  greater  passion. 

And  after  ten  years — did  many  men  love  for  ten  long 
years,  were  many  men  as  constant  as  he  had  been  ?  "Would 
not  that  constancy  count  for  something  with  her?  Surely, 
surely  it  must,  for  women  prized  constancy  in  a  man  above 
all  other  things. 

So  the  smile  still  lingered  on  his  lips,  as  he  turned  and 
slowly  made  his  way  along  the  sun  warmed  path.  What 
should  he  say  to  her  when  she  came,  what  had  he  said  to 
her  in  the  old  days  when  he  had  poured  out  his  heart  to  her  ? 
A  thousand  things,'  a  million  things,  and  yet  all  were  summed 
up  in  three  words,  "I  love  you." 

He  had  given  her  everything,  a  man's  love,  a  man's  con- 
stancy. His  heart  had  not  beaten  one  throb  the  faster  for 
any  woman  but  her.  His  eyes  had  found  no  pleasure  in 
looking  on  any  other  woman's  face.  Could  man  give  more 
than  he  had  given  ?  What  could  he  ask  in  return  ?  Every- 
thing— and  he  knew  that  he  must  ask  everything  of  her. 

Kathleen  was  conscious  of  a  trepidation,  of  a  nervousness 
unusual  to  her.  A  strange  shyness  had  come  to  her,  an  un- 
willingness to  meet  him ;  yet  she  must  and  because  she  must 


BESIDE  THE  LAKE  205 

she  was  here.  She  had  asked  herself — Was  lie  the  same, 
had  the  years  altered  him  ?  And  she  had  answered  her  own 
questions  with  No  and  Yes :  he  was  not  the  same,  the  years 
had  altered  him.  She  scarcely  knew  this  silent,  almost 
morose  man.  He  came  to  her  with  his  tanned,  lean  face, 
his  deep  sombre  eyes,  as  almost  a  stranger,  just  now  and 
again  for  a  fleeting  moment  she  saw  something  in  his  face, 
heard  something  in  his  voice  that  brought  back  memories 
of  the  boy  she  had  known  and  loved.  Yet  they  were  but 
fleeting. 

The  ardent,  outspoken,  honest,  loving  boy  had  changed 
into  the  quiet,  self-contained  man.  The  man  had  infinitely 
more  self-control  than  the  boy.  Yet  she  had  seen  those  eyes 
of  his  lighten  up,  had  seen  the  spark  of  fire  gle'am  in  them 
and  she  knew  that  it  was  not  the  same  flame  that  had  burned 
so  brightly  in  the  boyish  eyes. 

He  met  her  and  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 
but  he  did  not  speak  and  she  spoke  because  she  knew  that  the 
silence  must  be  broken. 

"I  saw  you  from  my  window,  you  have  been  admiring  the 
— our  garden,"  she  said. 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  have  given  the  garden  a  thought." 

"Yet  is  it  not  beautiful  enough?  And  to  think  that  a 
few  months  ago  it  was  little  more  than  a  jungle  and  now " 

"It  is  beautiful,  yet  I  knew  another  infinitely  more  beauti- 
ful to  me  than  this.  You  knew  that  garden  too,  Kathleen, 
our  garden  at  Bishopsholme,  the  garden  where  I  used  to 

wait  for  you,  where  I  first  told  you "  his  voice  quavered 

and  trembled  and  her  eyes,  downcast,  dared  not  lift  them- 
selves to  his  face. 

"Where  I  first  told  you  how  I  loved  you — I  have  seen 
that  garden  in  my  dreams  a  thousand  times,  I  have  had  cool 
visions  of  it  in  the  sweltering  heat  of  the  tropical  nights. 
I  have  seen  it — and  you — always  you — and  yet  my  memory 
never  did  you  justice  Kathleen.  To-day  you  are  more  beauti- 
ful, more  sweetly  gracious,  more  lovable " 


206      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Hush!"  she  said. 

"Why  should  I  be  silent  when  silence  would  be  but  pre- 
tence? Ten  years  ago  I  loved  you  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul,  for  ten  years  my  love  has  been  constant,  my  dreams 
and  my  memories  of  you  were  sweeter  to  me  than  the  living 
realty  of  other  women — I  cared  nothing  for  them,  my  heart 
was  all  yours." 

"Harold !"  she  said.  "Harold !"  She  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  "The  past  is  dead  and  it  must  lie  dead  and — and 
forgotten " 

"Forgotten !  You  tell  me  to  forget  when  I  have  lived  on 
memories,  when  the  visions  of  you  that  my  brain  has  con- 
jured up  have  been  the  only  real,  the  only  beautiful  things 
in  my  life:  have  I  not  heard  your  voice  speaking  to  me  in 
the  stillness  of  those  hot  nights,  have  I  not  felt  your  cool 
hand  on  my  brow  when  fever  assailed  me  ?  You,  even  though 
thousands  of  miles  parted  us,  were  with  me  always.  You 
were  by  my  side  in  daylight  and  in  darkness,  my  other  self, 
my  better,  purer,  sweeter  self,  and  now  after  ten  years  when 
all  that  I  had  of  you,  all  that  I  had  in  the  world  was  memory 
of  you,  you  tell  me  to  forget " 

"Because  you  must,"  she  said  softly,  "because — oh  because 
you  must." 

"And  did  you  forget?  Could  you  have  forgotten  at  the 
word  of  command  ?v  he  said.  His  cheeks  were  flushed  under 
their  tan,  his  eyes  were  gleaming  and  his  words  came  quick 
and  fast.  "Could  you  have  forgotten  so  easily?  No,  you 
too  were  faithful,  you  waited  Kathleen.  You  told  me  so 
yourself.  You  waited — hoping,  dear,  did  you  not,  hoping 
that  I  should  come  back  to  you  as,  God  willing,  I  meant 
always  to  come  back.  You  knew  as  I  knew  that  it  was  the 
great  love,  the  one.  and  only  love  of  our  two  lives.  It  came  to 
you,  dear,  when  you  were  little  more  than  a  child,  to  me 
when  I  was  but  a  boy,  but  it  will  last  through  my  life  and 
yours — yours  too,  and  knowing  this,  you  tell  me  to  forget." 


BESIDE  THE  LAKE  207 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "Listen — this  is  my  home,  you  are 
my  friend,  my  husband's  guest " 

"Does  that  matter,  does  anything  in  this  world  matter 
save  that  I  have  come  back  to  you,  that  you  and  I  love  one 
another  now  as  we  did  then  and  that  after  years  of  separation, 
years  of  heart  sickness  and  longing,  we  are,  thank  God,  to- 
gether again.  Does  anything  matter  but  that  ?  You  are  mar- 
ried, you  married  the  man  for  his  money — his  father's 
money — your  father  told  me  this — I  am  not  speaking  in 
anger  dear,  nor  contempt,  I  am  only  stating  what  I  know  to 
be  a  fact.  You  gave  him  no  love,  how  could  you,  when  you 
had  none  to  give,  for  your  heart  was  always  mine." 

"Oh  hush,  hush !  Before  you  say  any  more,  Harold,  listen 
for  you  must  listen  to  me  now.  My  father  told  you  only 
the  truth,  I  married  for  money,  for  a  home,  for  a  future — I 
had  given  up  hope,  I  had  waited  so  long,  my  youth  was  pass- 
ing. I  looked  ahead,  I  saw  old  age  and  loneliness  and  oh — 
perhaps  I  was  a  coward,  but  I  was  afraid — afraid — Perhaps 
you  had  forgotten,  perhaps  you  no  longer  lived — remember, 
remember  that  for  ten  years  I  heard  no  word  of  you :  I  know 
now  that  in  not  writing  one  word  to  me  you  were  faithfully 
keeping  the  word  of  honour  that  my  father  forced  you  to 
give.  Yet  I  did  not  think  you  had  died,  Harold,  for  if  you 
were  dead  I  think — I  think  I  should  have  known — you  were 
only  a  boy,  I  told  myself,  and  the  love  of  a  boy  changes, 
absence  so  often  means  forgetfulness.  There  are  other  women 
younger  and  more  beautiful  than  I — No,  no,  let  me  speak, 
I  know  now  that  I  was  wrong — I  know  that  I  was  wrong — yet 
how  could  I  know  it  then  ?  I  was  twenty-eight,  twenty-eight 
and  what  had  I  to  look  forward  to?  Nothing!  nothing  in 
the  world — my  father  had  nothing  to  give  me,  I  was  useless, 
I  could  not  work,  I  knew  of  no  trade — I  had  been  brought  up 
in  idleness,  a  useless  creature — and  the  future — it  meant — 
starvation,  not  merely  genteel  poverty,  it  meant  worse,  it 
meant " 

"I  know,  and  you  married  for  money — for  a  home — have 


208      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

I  blamed  you,  have  I  shewn  anger,  Kathleen  ?  No,  dear,  I 
pitied  you.  You  married  this  man  for  his  money  only " 

"Not  wholly,  I  liked  him,  respected  him " 

"Liked  him,  respected  him "  he  smiled  grimly.  "But 

I  had  your  heart  ?" 

"Yes "  she  said,  "then." 

"And  now — now  still  now — always!" 

"It  is  not  fair,  it  is  cruel,  it  is  unlike  you  to  ask  me," 
she  said,  "it  is  too  late  to  ask  me  now " 

"It  is  not  too  late.  Was  not  your  sin  against  me,  against 
your  love  greater  when  you  married  him  than  any  you  might 
commit  against  him  now  ?" 

"I  am  his  wife,  I  have  promised  to  be  faithful  and  true  to 
him." 

"You  promised  to  be  faithful  and  true  to  me ;  do  you  re- 
member our  parting  at  Bishopsholme,  you  promised  then 
when  I  held  you  in  my  arms,  when  the  tears  were  in  your 
dear  eyes — you  promised  always  to  love  me,  always  to  be 
faithful  and  true,  all  your  life  long — you  promised  me  then 
with  tears,  beloved." 

"And  I  performed — I  waited  for  ten  years.  Never  passed 
a  day  that  I  did  not  waking  think  of  you,  that  I  did  not  when 
I  lay  down  to  sleep  ask  God's  blessing  on  you  and  then  Fate 
was  too  strong " 

"It  was  Fate  that  brought  me  here  to-day." 

"So  that  we  could  meet  as  friends,  take  one  another  by 
the  hand  and " 

"As  friends — you  and  I "  his  voice  quivered  with 

scorn  and  bitterness — "Friends!" 

They  had  come  to  the  little  lake,  the  pool  where  stood  the 
stone  nymph  and  where  in  the  deep  green  water  the  great 
carp  swam  lazily.  She  was  remembering  how  she  and  Allan 
had  stood  here  days  ago  and  had  spoken  of  this  little  stone 
maiden. 

"Kathleen,  true  love,  love  that  is  loyal  and  lasting  and 
good  and  true  is  the  holiest,  the  best  and  most  enduring 


BESIDE  THE  LAKE  209 

thing  in  this  world,  it  stands  far,  far  above  a  mere  ceremony. 
It  is  Heavensent.  You  dare  not  sin  against  that  love, 
dear,  for  Heaven  itself  put  it  in  your  heart.  I  have  been 
faithful  all  those  years,  I  have  loved  you.  I  have  dreamed 
of  you,  spoken  to  you  in  my  thoughts,  and  now  I  have  come 
back,  I  have  come  to  you  for — my  reward,  Kathleen." 

She  turned  slowly  and  looked  at  him,  her  face  had  grown 
white. 

"Harold,  I  do  not  understand." 

"You  must,  oh  you  must,  you  do  understand,  Kathleen, 
don't  shrink  from  me — you  see  before  you  the  man  who  loves 
you  better  than  he  loves  his  life,  better  I  think,  than  he  loves 
his  soul.  Marriage — what  is  marriage,  such  a  marriage  as 
yours,  a  marriage  of  convenience,  a  marriage  of  accommoda- 
tion, a  marriage  tainted  by  money.  Can  you  set  up  such  a 
marriage  as  yours  against  my  steadfast  love?  You  cannot, 
you  shall  not,  Kathleen,  you  belong  to  me — you  became  mine 
when  you  gave  me  your  heart — when  you  let  me  hold  you  in 
my  arms,  when  my  lips  first  kissed  yours.  That — that  gave 
you  to  me — I  ask  for  my  own  now  and  you — you  are  my  own 
— I  have  come  for  you — I  want  you,  God  knows  I  need  you. 
I  shall  never  let  you  go  now  never,  never  again  in  this  world !" 

She  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  which  was  unfamiliar  to 
her,  looked  at  him  and  seemed  to  see  the  face  of  a  stranger, 
of  a  man  she  had  never  known,  that  face  was  flushed,  those 
eyes  were  bright,  his  hands  stretched  out  to  her  trembled 
with  the  passion  that  moved  him. 

"What  are  you  asking  me?" 

"To  come  with  me,  to  leave  all  this,  for  your  love's  sake, 
for  my  love's  sake,  to  let  love  rise  triumphant  above  every 
earthly  consideration,  I  have  come  for  you,  I  shall  not  go 
without  you." 

And  then  she  turned  from  him,  she  turned  to  look  at  the 
little  statue  that  had  stood  there,  reflected  in  the  green 
waters  through  all  those  centuries.  The  stone  maiden  who 
would  stand  here  perhaps  when  the  grave  had  closed  over  her, 


210      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

and  looking  at  the  little  statue,  rather  than  at  him,  she 
spoke  quietly. 

"I  loved  you,"  she  said,  "I  loved  you  all  those  years  be- 
cause I  believed  you  to  be  all  that  I  would  have  had  you  be. 
I  loved  you  for  your  respect  for  me,  for  your  honour,  your 
purity  and  for  your  reverence.  In  those  days  you  never 
offended  me  by  word  or  look,  I  was  safe  with  you  as  with  a 
brother — and  because  I  knew  that  with  you,  I  was  so  pro- 
tected, so  safe,  so  secure,  I  loved  you,  I  think  I  worshipped 
you  and  so  I  remembered  you  as  good  and  honourable  and 

innocent  and  true — and — and  now  you  come  back  to  me " 

her  voice  broke  a  little,  "and  I  know  that  the  love  I  believed 
in,  trusted  in  so,  has  degenerated  into  what  is  nothing  but 
a  selfish  passion.  Here  under  my  husband's  roof,  you  hold 
out  your  hand  to  me,  you  bid  me  come,  you  bid  me  leave 
honour,  happiness  and  peace  of  heart,  you  bid  me  leave  self- 
respect,  all — all  behind  me." 

"Kathleen— Kathleen !" 

"Had  I  been  free  and  had  you  come  in  rags,  a  beggar, 
with  nothing  in  your  hands,  had  you  called  to  me  to  go  with 
you — I  would  have  gone  gladly,  proudly  gone.  But  you 
waited,  Harold,  and  you  waited  too  long,  and  now  you  dis- 
honour your  love,  you  trample  it  into  the  dust  at  your  feet. 
I  idealised  you  and  the  idol  that  I  set  up  and  which  I  in  my 
blindness  and  foolishness  worshipped,  is  fallen  and  shattered, 

broken  beyond  repair,  and  so "  She  turned  to  him  for 

the  first  time  and  held  out  her  hand,  "and  so  we  have  come 
to  the  parting  of  the  ways,  Harold,  the  last  parting.  It  is 
good-bye  between  us,  good-bye  for  always." 

"If  your  love  had  been  as  strong  as  mine,  had  lived  as  mine 
had  lived,  you  would  not  say  this  to  me  now." 

"It  lived  till  a  little  while  ago,  till  we  came  here  just  now 
and  stood  beside  the  lake — it  lived  till  then — and  then — you 
killed  it,  Harold,  you  killed  it  here." 

"These  are  words,  mere  words !" 

"Yet  true  words,  it  died  here  after  I  had  kept  it  warm, 


BESIDE  THE  LAKE  211 

after  I  had  cherished  it  in  my  heart,  after  I  had  regarded  it 
as  the  best,  the  sweetest,  purest,  noblest  thing  that  could 
ever  come  into  my  life,  and  here  you  taught  me  that  I  was 
wrong,  you  degraded  it,  you  made  me  see  that  it  was  not 
the  pure  and  holy  thing  I  had  believed  it.  You  shewed  me 
that  it  was  mean  and  cruel  and  selfish.  You  asked  me  for — 
for  your  reward,  yet  did  not  consider  what  the  cost  of  that 
reward  must  be  to  me.  You  would  have  made  me  an  outcast, 
my  name  a  word  of  shame,  you,  who  ten  years  ago  never 
wronged  me  in  word  or  thought.  You  would  take  me  from 
here  into  the  wilderness,  thinking  that  if  I  could  but  hide 
my  face  from  others  I  might  find  happiness.  Did  you  give 
a  thought  to  my  soul,  to  my  conscience,  where  could  I  have 
hidden  from  that  ?" 

He  did  not  answer,  he  stood  looking  at  her,  his  brown 
hands  clenched.  Smouldering  passion  was  in  his  breast,  the 
passion  of  desire,  the  passion  of  anger.  Yet  he  could  be 
honest  with  himself  and  knew  that  she  was  speaking  the 
truth,  and  had  never  a  word  to  say  in  contradiction. 

"Just  now,"  she  said,  "just  now  you  killed  my  love,  you 
drove  it  from  my  heart — it  belonged  to  the  man  I  thought 
so  fine,  so  splendid,  so  noble  and  when  I  found  him  ignoble, 
selfish,  self-seeking,  it  died ;  it  had  to  die,  Harold,  and  being 
dead  will  never  live  again!"  She  held  out  her  hand  to 
him,  there  was  a  smile  on  her  white  face,  a  rather  pitiful 
smile,  for  only  she  and  her  God  knew  what  she  had  suffered 
here  in  this  garden  of  sunshine. 

"We  must  part  here  dear,  part — you  and  I  who  were 
lovers,  part  as  lovers  for  ever,  yet  we  shall  meet  again  in  a 
few  hours,  I  the  hostess,  you  my  guest  and  friend.  But  I 
part  here  from  the  man  I  once  loved  and  bidding  him  good- 
bye ask  that  God  may  bless  him  always." 

"Once!"  he  said  softly.  "Once,  Kathleen,  I  once  loved? 
Once?" 

"Once!"    she  said,    and   bravely   looked   into   his   eyes. 

Moments  of  silence  passed  while  he  stood  looking  at  her. 


212      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

His  face  seemed  to  have  grown  older,  it  was  haggard,  there 
were  lines  of  pain  upon  it. 

This  place,  she  knew,  would  hold  for  ever  a  memory  of 
pain  and  suffering  for  her,  here  she  would  see  his  face  in 
memory  as  she  saw  it  now.  Never  would  she  see  these  green 
waters  lying  motignless  under  the  deep  shadows  of  the  yews, 
but  that  into  her  memory  would  come  his  face  as  she  saw  it 
now,  all  haggard  and  stricken,  the  face  of  one  who  has  seen 
the  gate  to  happiness  opened  for  an  instant  and  then  finds 
himself  shut  out  in  the  darkness  and  the  cold  for  evermore. 

Suddenly  he  fell  to  his  knees,  he  lifted  the  soft  and  dainty 
fabric  of  her  dress  and  touched  it  with  his  lips  and  then, 
rising,  turned  and  strode  away,  leaving  her  by  the  water 
alone. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ON  OTHER  SHOUXDEES 

WHEN  he  had  knelt  and  kissed  the  hem  of  net  gar- 
ment, Scarsdale  had  meant  it  as  an  act  of  renuncia- 
tion, as  an  acceptance  of  Kathleen's  decision.  He  could  not 
hope  to  fight  against  it.  The  truth,  of  what  she  had  said  ap- 
pealed to  him.  True  he  could  take  her  away  back  to  his  own 
little  domain  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  earth.  He  could  take 
her  to  a  place  where  no  one  should  know  of  her  and  his  past. 
But  he  could  not  take  her  away  from  her  own  thoughts,  the 
upbraiding  of  her  own  conscience.  His  love  for  her  was  a 
strange  mixture  of  passion  and  reverence.  Sometimes  it  was 
the  one  that  was  uppermost,  at  another  time  the  other.  Now 
it  was  reverence,  respect  for  her  purity  that  filled  his  heart. 
He  put  his  passion  away,  for  ever,  he  told  himself.  He 
would  go  back  whence  he  came.  He  would  take  back  with, 
him  his  dreams  and  his  memories  and  nothing  else. 

To-day  was  Saturday,  his  visit  here  would  end  on  Monday. 
He  would  have  ended  it  to-day,  yet  he  felt  that  he  might 
appear  a  coward  in  her  sight  if  he  ran  away,  besides,  why 
should  he  cheat  himself  of  these  last  few  hours  of  her? 
She  was  nothing  to  him,  never  could  be  anything,  but  he 
could  still  watch  her,  still  listen  to  her  voice,  still  garner  up 
in  his  brain  memories  of  her  on  which  he  would  draw  pres- 
ently when  he  had  gone  back  to  the  old  lonely,  hopeless  life. 

No,  he  would  not  run  away. 

He  found  from  one  of  the  men  servants,  old  Markabee  it 
was,  in  which  direction  lay  the  golf  course,  to  which  Messrs. 
Coombe,  Cutler  and  Jobson  had  repaired. 

"Fower  miles  it  be,  fower  good  miles,  sir,"  said  Marka- 

213 


214      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

bee,  through  Stretton  you  du  go,  then  turns  to  the  left 

and "  And  so  on,  Scarsdale  listened  to  the  directions 

and  followed  them  and  an  hour  later  stood  on  the  course  and 
watched  Mr.  Coombe  making  wild  and  ineffective  swipes  at 
a  small  ball  perched  on  a  mound. 

Mr.  Coombe,  bathed  in  perspiration,  appealed  to  him. 

"Never  tried  this  game  before,  I  haven't,"  he  said,  "and 
don't  know  as  I'm  going  to  spend  sleepless  nights  before  I 
try  it  again.  I  daresay  it's,  all  right  for  those  who  like  it — 
play  it  yourself  perhaps,  Sir  Harold  ?" 

Scarsdale  shook  his  head.  "There's  not  much  golf  where 
I  come  from,"  he  said  briefly. 

"No,  too  hot  I  reckon — well  for  my  part,  give  me  a  quiet 
game  of  bowls.  Innocent  mirth  I  don't  find  fault  with,  but 
I  object  to  making  myself  a  sort  of  circus  for  a  lot  of  grin- 
ning urchins,  who  ought  to  be  at  school  or  somewhere."  He 
came  and  stood  beside  Scarsdale.  At  any  other  time  Scars- 
dale  might  have  avoided  Mr.  Coombe,  to-day  he  welcomed 
him.  Even  Coombe  was  a  better  companion  than  his  own 
thoughts. 

"A  decent  feller,"  Coombe  thought,  "no  airs  about  him,  a 
bit  silent,  I  don't  expect  he  gets  much  society  where  he  comes 
from." 

Thereafter  Mr.  Combe  left  Cutler  and  Jobson  to  their  golf 
and  attached  himself  to  Scarsdale,  and  for  long  after  the 
boastful  Coombe  would  tell  in  City  chop  houses  how  he  and 
his  friend  Sir  Harold  Scarsdale  played  golf  together  on 
Stretton  Links. 

"Walk,"  said  Coombe,  "why  of  course  I'll  walk,  nothing 
like  walking  to  get  a  man's  weight  down." 

"I  gather  you  don't  do  much  walking,  Mr.  Coombe." 

"Me?"  said  Coombe.  "You  should  see  me,  all  over  the 
City  I  am,  in  one  office  out  another  up  and  down  the  stairs." 

They  lunched,  the  four  of  them,  at  a  little  Inn,  lunched 
on  bread  and  cheese  and  good  English  ale.  Coombe  called  the 
pretty  little  maid  who  waited  on  them  his  dear.  He  chucked 


ON  OTHER  SHOULDERS  215 

her  under  her  dimpled  chin  and  asked  her  how  many  sweet- 
hearts she  had — a  gay  dog,  Mr.  Coombe,  playful  and  pon- 
derous, with  no  more  vice  in  him  than  is  in  an  honest  British 
bulldog. 

"Pretty  girl,"  said  Coombe ;  "I  always  said  London  wants 
beating  for  pretty  girls.  You  see  more  pretty  girls  in  ten 
minutes  in  the  streets  of  London  than  yoa  do  in  a  day's  jour- 
neying anywhere  else.  But  next  to  London  comes  Sussex, 
I've  seen  'em  handsome  enough  in  Kent  and  passable  in 
Devonshire,  but  Sussex  girls  beat  the  best.  There's  a  girl  at 
Homewood,  Lady  Kathleen's  maid  I  think  she  is,  as  pretty 
as  a  picture — Jobson  and  I  saw  her  last  night,  didn't  we, 
Jobson  ?" 

Jobson  blushed  furiously. 

"You  did  call  my  attention  to  a  young  woman,  now  I  come 
to  think  of  it,  Coombe." 

"Call  his  attention — ha,  ha !"  roared  Coombe.  "He  didn't 
want  much  attention  called,  believe  me  Scarsdale,  and  mind 
you  she  was  worth  looking  at,  the  daintiest  little  bit  I've  seen 
for  a  long  while,  I  can  tell  you — neat,  trim  little  body,  hair 
as  gold — as  gold  as  that  sunlight  yonder,  a  demure  little  face, 
my  word — ask  Jobson,  hey  Jobson  ?" 

"The  young  woman  was  certainly  prepossessing,"  said 
Jobson  primly,  "and  I  suppose  there's  no  harm  in  a  man 
admiring  a  pretty  face  and  God  forbid  because  I  see  a  pretty 
face  and  admire  it  that  any  other — thoughts — any  other  ideas 
— should  enter  my  head — and — and  I  don't  like  your  man- 
ner, Coombe,  it  suggests  things  I  do  not  like — sir,  and  if 
you  must  have  your  joke — as  you  call  it,  I  would  be  infinite- 
ly obliged  to  you  if  you  would  find  another  subject  to  joke 
about  than  myself." 

"Bless  my  soul !"  said  Coombe.  "Bless  my  soul,  Jobson, 
what  are  you  going  off  the  deep  end  for  now  ?  I  said  you  saw 
a  pretty  girl  and  admired  her  and  so  did  I,  begad !  I'd  be  a 
blind  fool  if  I  did  not !  And  if  you  think  I'm  saying  one 


216     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

word  against  you  or  the  girl  either,  Jobson,  why  then — 
then — hang  it  then " 

"If  you  meant  no  offence,  Coombe,  then  none  is  taken," 
said  Jobson. 

They  were  good  honest  fellows,  decent,  clean  minded  men 
and  if  their  talk  was  mainly  of  money  and  of  money  getting, 
what  did  it  matter  ?  Scarsdale  found  no  fault  with  them,  he 
even  felt  a  kind  of  liking  for  Mr.  Coombe.  Coombe  was  so 
big,  so  noisy,  so  inoffensively  vulgar. 

"Yes,  I  say  and  I  ain't  ashamed  to  say,  that  though  I  am 
fifty-nine  I  can  admire  a  pretty  face.  Yes,  fifty-nine,"' 
Coombe  swelled  out  his  chest  and  looked  around,  expecting 
that  someone  would  question  his  age,  but  no  one  did. 
"Though  I  am  fifty-nine,  I  can  still,  thank  God,  admire  the 
beauties  of  Nature,  whether  it's  a  noble  landscape,  or  a  sweep- 
ing view  of  the  sea  or — or  a  woman's  face.  I  wouldn't  be  fit 
to  be  blessed  with  my  sight  if  I  couldn't  admire  a  pretty 
face — and  that's  why,  my  dear,  I  admire  you,"  he  added  as 
the  little  serving  maid  came  in  with  more  bread  and  cheese. 
"And  why  I  hope  that  some  fine  young  fellow  will  come  along 
with  his  pocket  full  of  money  and  marry  you  and  make  you 
a  good  husband." 

"How  'ee  du  talk,  sir!"  the  little  maid  said,  blushing 
and  curtseying;  "a  rare  comic  gentleman  'ee  du  be,  sir." 

"And "  went  on  Mr.  Coombe  when  the  girl  had  gone 

out  again,  "what  I  think  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  to  see, 
gentlemen,  the  finest  and  noblest  of  God's  created  creatures, 
is  a  true  bred,  real  English  lady.  It  isn't  only  her  looks, 
it's  her  sweet  graciousness,  her  kindness  and  her  friendliness 
and  the  dainty  way  she  has  of  speaking,  so's  you  feel  at  home 
and  feel  as  she  likes  you  and  that's  she's  your  friend  and 
would  do  you  a  kindness  if  she  could.  There  aren't  many  of 
7em  about,  leastways  it  hasn't  been  my  lot  to  meet  'em — but 
I've  met  one  now — and — and" — Mr.  Coombe  paused,  he 
rose,  he  held  up  his  tankard,  "Beer  isn't  good  enough  nor 
would  the  finest  champagne  ever  vinted  be  good  enough,  but 


ON  OTHER  SHOULDERS  217 

it  isn't  the  stuff  we  drink  her  health  in,  it's  the  feeling,  it's 
the  respect,  the  admiration  we  feel,  gentlemen,  that  does  her 
honour  and  perhaps  does  honour  to  us  too.  And  so  I  ask  you 
to  drink  the  health  of  the  finest  lady  I  ever  met,  the  loveliest 
and  best — and  I  tell  you  when  I  look  at  Lady  Kathleen,  it 
makes  me  proud  to  remember  I'm  an  Englishman !" 

"Hear,  hear !"  said  Cutler  and  Jobson.  "If  old  Homewood 
were  here,  Coombe,  he'd  love  you  for  that,"  said  Cutler. 

Coombe  might  have  been  a  hundred  times  more  vulgar 
than  he  was,  louder,  commoner,  more  boisterous,  but  Scars- 
dale  from  that  moment  on  would  never  see  any  harm  in 
Coombe.  A  good  fellow,  an  honest  man.  What  mattered  it 
that  he  wore  white  trousers  and  canvas  strapped  shoes,  a  soft 
felt  hat  to  the  golf  course,  that  he  perspired  freely  and  that 
he  bellowed  like  the  bull  of  Bashan,  what  did  it  all  matter  ? 
His  heart  was  in  the  right  place;  and  so  mentally  Scarsdale 
shook  Coombe  by  his  jolly  big  moist  hand  and  thanked  him 
in  his  heart  for  his  tribute  of  reverence  and  respect  to  the 
One  Woman  in  all  Scarsdale's  world'. 

Back  to  the  golf  course  went  Mr.  Cutler  and  Mr.  Jobson, 
each  eager  to  do  "something  in  so  many,"  so  Coombe  vaguely 
understood,  but  here  outside  the  Inn  on  a  seat  in  the  sun- 
shine, it  was  pleasant  enough  to  stay  and  Coombe  and  Scars- 
dale  sat  and  smoked  their  pipes  and  watched  the  chickens 
and  the  white  ducks  in  the  roadway  and  thought  their  own 
thoughts. 

"Yes,"  said  Coombe,  "if  I  ever  saw  a  pretty  girl,  it  was 
that  one !  Betty  her  name  is,  because  I  asked  her,  and  she  is 
Lady  Kathleen's  maid  and  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that  her  lady- 
ship must  be  the  purest  and  sweetest  soul  living  or  she 
wouldn't  have  a  lovely  young  thing  like  that  in  the  same  house 
as  her  own  young  husband !" 

Scarsdale  started.  "Why — what  do  you  mean,  Mr. 
Coombe  ?  Is  Homewood  the  type  of  man  who  would " 

"Heaven  forbid  it,  there  isn't  a  cleaner,  better  lad  living 
than  Allan  Homewood.  But  there's  a  certain  prayer  as  runs 


218     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

— 'Lead  us  not  into  temptation/  Sir  Harold  and  knowing 
what  I  know "  Mr.  Coombe  paused. 

"And  what  do  you  know  ?" 

"I  know  that  Lady  Kathleen  Homewood  is  a  sweet  and 
lovely  young  lady,  though  how  she  came  to  have  such  a  father 
— at  any  rate  I  know  there  isn't  a  finer  lady  in  this  land  than 
her,  and  I  know  that  Allan  Homewood  is  a  lad  who  if  I 
had  had  a  daughter  of  my  own  I'd  have  liked  to  have  seen 
her  married  to,  but  for  all  that  it  was  old  Homewood  who 
made  the  marriage,  his  money  that  did  it,  and  though  they 
like  one  another  and  respect  one  another,  as  all  the  world  can 
see,  why — why — do  you  see,  Sir  Harold,  it  isn't  the  same 
as  if  it  had  been  a  love  match  and  they  had  married  for  love, 
do  you  take  me?" 

"I  understand  you  quite  well  and  because  it  was  not  a  love 
match " 

"Well,  Sir  Harold,  because  Allan  ain't  in  love  with  Lady 
Kathleen,  it's  just  possible,  isn't  it,  he  might,  I  say — might 
— fall  in  love  with  someone  else,  as  is  natural !  Young  blood, 
Sir  Harold,  young  blood — you  know.  It's  natural  for  a 
man  to  seek  his  own  mate  and  that's  why  I  don't  hold  with 
loveless  marriages.  Depend  on  it  the  man,  and  very  often 
the  woman  too,  will  find  he  needs  the  love  his  marriage  didn't 
bring  him  and  he'll  look  for  it,  or  if  he  don't  look  for  it, 
Sir  Harold,  why  then  it  may  come  to  him  all  the  same." 

"And  you  think  that  Mr.  Allan  Homewood  might  possibly 
fall  in  love  with  his  wife's  little  maid,  eh  ?" 

"God  forbid  I  should  think  anything  of  the  kind,"  said 
Mr.  Coombe.  "I  never  said  it  and  I  don't  want  to  think  it, 
but  I  do  say  if  I  was  my  Lady  Kathleen's  father,  which  I 
am  not,  I'd  say  to  her,  'My  dear,  that  little  maid  of  yours  is 
too  pretty  by  half,  and  it  would  be  best  that  you  got  rid  of 
her!" 

"And  Lady  Kathleen  would  tell  you  that  she  was  quite 
capable  of  conducting  her  own  business  without  interference, 
Mr.  Coombe!" 


ON  OTHER  SHOULDERS  219 

"Which  would  serve  me  right  for  a  meddling,  interfering 
old  fool!"  said  Mr.  Coombe. 

He  knocked  out  his  pipe  and  then  presently  the  warm 
sunshine,  the  drowsy  hum  of  the  bees  hovering  about  the 
old  straw  skeps  on  their  bench  in  the  little  orchard  across  the 
road,  the  good  English  ale,  all  had  their  effect.  Mr. 
Coombe's  heavy  head  nodded.  He  jerked  himself  awake,  then 
nodded  again,  and  so  fell  asleep.  And  Harold  Scarsdale, 
an  empty  pipe  between  his  teeth,  sat  with  folded  arms  and 
stared  before  him,  seeing  nothing,  but  thinking  deeply  and 
his  thoughts  were:  "After  all — after  all  might  there  not 
even  now  be  some  hope  for  him?  Must  the  years  be  all 
lonely?" 

She,  God's  blessings  on  her,  would  not  come  to  him  in 
shame — her  shame — and  his,  yet  might  she  not  come  if  the 
burden  of  shame  should  fall  on  other  shoulders  ? 

So  Mr.  Coombe  snored  in  the  pleasant  sunshine  and  Harold 
Scarsdale  widely  awake,  dreamed  of  a  future  that  might  even 
yet  be. 


CHAPTEE   XXVII 

THE   CONQTJEBOE 

A  GIRL  was  leaning  against  the  old  rose  red  wall,  she  was 
sobbing  pitifully. 

"  'Ee  du  be  cruel,  for — for  ever  pestering  I !"  she  moaned. 
"Why  doan't  'ee  leave  me  in  peace,  Abram  ?" 

The  man  stood  stolidly  watching  her,  her  tears  moved  him 
not  at  all. 

"Every  night  'ee  du  be  hanging  about  here,  I  know  it,  for 
Polly  Ransom  told  me  and  getting  I  a  bad  name  'ee  be!" 

"Polly  Ransom  be  a  mischief  making  hussey!"  the  man 
said. 

"She  did  but  tell  I  the  truth,  Abram,  for  'ee  du  be  here 
all  hours  watching  for  I,  so  I  daren't  show  my  face  beyond 
the  walls." 

"Who  should  I  be  watching  and  waiting  for,  if  it  be  not 
'ee,  Betty  ?  'Ee  be  my  promised  wife,  'ee  be !" 

"I  bain't !"  she  said.    "I  bain't,  and  I  du  hate  'ee!' 

He  laughed  hoarsely. 

"Slow — slow  I  be,  slow  o'  speech  and  slow  to  make  up  my 
mind,  yet  when  I  du  speak,  then  the  words  I  hev  said  be 
spoken  and  can  never  be  recalled,  and  when  I  du  make  up  my 
mind,  it  be  just  the  same,  I  never  change,  I  never  alter, 
I  chose  'ee,  Betty  Hanson,  from  all  other  maids!  I've  set 
my  heart  on  'ee,  my  maid,  and  nothing  on  God's  earth'll  make 
me  alter,  nothing!" 

They  were  words  that  might  have  been  spoken  with  pas- 
sion, yet  he  spoke  without  passion,  with  a  cool,  deadly  cer- 
tainty that  frightened  the  girl  infinitely  more  than  blustering 
rage.  Only  his  fingers  betrayed  his  nervousness,  they  were 

220 


THE  CONQUEROR  221 

plucking  at  each  other  for  lack  of  something  else  to  pluck  at. 

"A  patient  man  I  be,  wunnerful,  terribul  patient,"  he 
went  on  slowly.  "Night  after  night  hev  I  come  here,  watch- 
ing this  door,  knowing  full  well  that  sooner  or  later  'ee  must 
pass  it.  Night,  after  night  hev  I  gone  away  and  said  to  my 
self,  'To-morrer,'  and  see  'ee've  come,  just  as  I  Mowed  'ee 
would "  he  paused.  "When'll  the  day  be,  Betty  Han- 
eon?" 

"The  day?" 

"The  day  for  our  wedding,  surely  ?" 

"Never,  never,"  she  said,  "never!"  She  clasped  her 
hands  over  her  heaving  breast,  "Never,  Abram  Lestwick! 
My  funeral  day  will  come  afore  my  marriage  day  wi'  'ee!" 

He  nodded  his  head  slowly.  He  had  found  a  button,  a  but- 
ton hanging  by  a  mere  thread ;  he  twisted  and  tore  at  it  till 
it  came  off,  then  he  fingered  the  button,  rolling  it  between 
finger  and  thumb,  passing  it  restlessly  from  one  hand  to  the 
other  till  at  last  he  dropped  it.  He  stooped  and  fumbled  in 
the  dust  hunting  for  it  as  though  it  were  something  of  groat 
account.  The  girl  clasped  her  face  between  her  two  hands 
and  looked  at  him,  terror  in  her  eyes. 

"Abram,  Abram!" 

He  had  not  found  the  thing,  he  straightened  himself  up, 
but  his  eyes  still  roved  the  ground. 

"Why  du  'ee  pester  I  so  ?" 

"I  don't  pester  'ee,  my  maid,  I  but  come  to  look  after  my 
own!" 

"I  bain't  your  own !" 

"  'Ee  be  chose  by  I,  willed  to  me  by  your  grandmother,  so 
'ee  du  belong  to  I!  and  one  day  I  will  hev  'ee,  Betty  Han- 
son  " 

"Never!" 

He  stood  staring  at  her,  forgetting  the  button.  About 
them  was  the  dusk  of  the  night.  His  restless  eyes  roved  up 
and  down  the  long  straight  road,  not  a  soul  was  there  to  be 
seen.  And  then  the  slow  passion  that  sometimes  came  to 


222      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

him  moved  him.  He  had  been  patient,  truly  he  had  said  he 
was  patient,  patient  and  slow,  yet  as  sure  as  death  itself — 
why  should  he  wait?  He  took  a  step  towards  her,  the  girl 
shrank  hack,  the  green  door  was  behind  her,  she  might  have 
lifted  the  latch  and  escaped,  but  a  strange  feeling  of  im- 
potence, of  helplessness  was  on  her,  she  could  only  stare  at 
the  man  with  distended  eyes. 

"  'Ee  do  belong  to  I !"  he  said.  And  he  said  it  again  and 
then  again,  and  each  time  he  took  a  slow  step  toward  her. 

"No,  no,  Abram "  her  voice  rose  shrill  with  terror,  for 

Ms  arms  were  suddenly  about  her,  his  hateful  hands  were  on 
her,  she  could  feel  his  hot  breath  on  her  cheek. 

"Let — let  I  go,  for  God's  sake — Abram — let  I  go!" 

But  he  did  not  answer,  he  dragged  her  towards  him,  her 
face  closer  to  his,  his  breath  was  on  her  lips  now,  his  eyes 
shone  brilliantly,  their  dull,  lifelessness  was  gone,  the  mad- 
ness of  his  pent-up  passion  was  on  him. 

"Let  I— let  I  go— for— for  God's  sake  let  I " 

And  then  the  green  door  behind  her  opened  suddenly, 
Abram  Lestwick  lifted  his  head,  he  looked  at  the  new- 
comer, the  man  who  stood  in  the  opening  of  the  wall. 

The  girl  was  sobbing,  struggling  pitifully  in  his  grip,  yet 
he  never  let  her  go,  he  held  her  tightly,  staring  at  the  man, 
and  it  seemed  waiting  for  him  to  pass. 

"Let  I  go — let  I  go — for  God's  mercy,  let  I  go!" 

Allan  Homewood  knew  the  voice,  he  knew  the  shimmer 
of  her  gold  hair,  he  knew  that  writhing  little  figure.  He  put 
his  hand  on  her  arm,  he  drew  her  back,  Lestwick  released 
her,  yet  did  not  stir. 

"She  be  my  promised  wife,"  he  said  quietly,  "my  promised 
wife  her  be !" 

"No,  no!"  the  girl  sobbed.  "Never  have  I  given  him  a 
promise  of  mine-r-never,  never !  Doan't  let — doan't  let  him 
touch  me!  Oh  I  be  frightened — frightened!" 

Allan  thrust  her  back  gently.  Strangely  enough  in  some 
ways  he  and  this  other  man  were  alike,  alike  and  yet  so  vast- 


THE  CONQUEROR  223 

ly  different,  slow  to  anger  was  each,  yet  when  that  anger  was 
aroused,  it  was  deadly  and  terrible.  It  was  roused  now, 
that  pitiful  cry,  that  white  face,  those  tearful,  terrified  eyes, 
those  little  clinging  hands  that  were  stretched  out  to  him, 
craving  his  protection.  What  he  said  he  did  not  know,  the 
words  came  hot  and  furious.  He  called  the  other  man  cur 
and  villain,  he  ordered  him  away,  he  lifted  clenched  fists  in 
threatening. 

But  Abram  Lestwick  stood  staring,  like  one  surprised  at 
the  interference  of  this  man.  What  right  had  he,  what  was  it 
to  him  ?  He  knew  the  man,  knew  him  for  Allan  Homewood, 
Esquire,  of  the  gentry,  so  what  right  had  he  to  interfere  be- 
tween a  man  and  his  promised  wife, 

"You  hear  me,  you  coward,  you  hear  me  ?  I  order  you 
to  go  and  never  to  come  back;  if  you  torment  and  threaten 
this  child,  I'll  thrash  you,  yes  man,  thrash  you  till  I  can- 
not stand  over  you!" 

"And  me "  Abram  Lestwick  said,  blinking  his  eyes  at 

Allan,  "me — what  would  I  be  doing?" 

There  came  slowly  into  his  dull  mind  a  dim  suspicion. 
This  man  was  young,  he  lived  beneath  the  same  roof  as 
Betty.  Betty  was  beautiful,  the  most  beautiful  maid  in  all 
Sussex,  in  all  the  world !  This  man  had  seen  her,  admired 
her,  loved  her,  what  man  could  help  it?  But  she  belonged 
to  him,  Abram  Lestwick. 

"What  be  that  maid  to  >ee,"  he  said,  "what  be  her  to  'eeV ' 
A  dull  red  came  into  his  face,  his  eyes  shone  evilly. 

The  girl  crouched  back  against  the  wall,  still  clasping  her 
soft  cheeks  between  her  hands.  She  was  watching  them, 
waiting,  wondering,  conscious  of  a  thrill  of  pride — these  two 
men — were  going  to  fight — for  her. 

She  had  no  fear  of  the  battle  to  come,  and  the  bloodshed 
there  might  be,  she  was  eager  for  it.  She  wanted  to  see 
Allan  Homewood — Allan  kill  this  man  whom  she  hated  and 
feared  so,  rid  her  of  him  for  ever.  Why — why  did  not  they 
begin,  what  were  they  waiting  for  ?  Why  this  long  silence  ? 


224,      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"What  be  her  to  'ee  ?"  Lestwick  asked  again,  and  then  the 
smouldering  passion  burst  into  flame,  foul  words,  fouler  sug- 
gestions came  to  his  lips.  He  ground  his  teeth  together,  he 
quivered  from  head  to  foot.  In  his  madness  and  passion  he 
fumbled  with  those  restless  hands  of  his  with  his  clothing — 
and  Allan  misunderstood. 

And  so  the  fight  began  and  the  girl  drew  a  long  shuddering 
breath  and  watched.  She  saw  them  strike  at  one  another,  saw 
Abram  Lestwick  reel,  staggering  back  with  blood  on  his  face, 
and  she  exulted,  she  wanted  to  scream  her  joy  and  gladness 
aloud.  Oh!  this  man  of  hers,  this  Allan  who  belonged  to 
her,  whom  she  loved  so  madly,  so  passionately,  what  a  man, 
what  a  man  he  was,  how  big  and  strong  and  broad,  how  fine 
to  love  a  man  like  this ! 

"Kill  him,  kill  him,  kill  him!"  she  prayed  voicelessly, 
"Oh  kill  him!" 

They  had  fought  away  from  the  wall,  they  were  near  to 
the  middle  of  the  chalk  white  road. 

In  the  dim  light  she  could  see  only  Lestwick's  face,  Allan's 
broad  back  was  towards  her  and  Lestwick's  face  was  all  blood 
smeared  and  his  eyes  shone  with  an  unholy  ligb 

"Kill  him!"  she  whispered,  "oh  kill  him!" 

She  uttered  a  choking  cry  of  joy,  she  saw  Lestwick  fling 
up  his  arms  and  spin  round  and  then  fall,  fall  crashing  into 
the  roadway,  she  watched  him  for  a  breathless  moment  as 
he  lay  there  motionless.  Then  her  breath  came  back  to  her, 
the  blood  coursed  in  her  veins  again,  for  the  man  had  moved, 
he  was  rising  slowly,  painfully,  but  rising.  He  stood  up, 
shaken  and  unsteady  and  his  face  was  no  sight  for  a  maid  to 
see,  but  she  rivetted  her  eyes  on  it. 

"Will  you  go  now  ?    Ah !  you  damned  villain  I" 

Lestwick's  fingers  were  again  busy  with  his  clothes  and  yet 
again  Allan  misunderstood.  He  thought  the  man  was 
fumbling  for  a  knife  to  draw  on  him  and  so  gave  him  no 
time. 

Another  blow  staggered  Lestwick,  but  he  did  not  go  down, 


THE  CONQUEROR  225 

the  fury  in  his  face  was  an  ill  thing  to  see,  his  teeth  were 
bared  and  snapping  like  the  teeth  of  a  mad  dog.  He  tried  to 
close  with  Allan,  disregarding  the  blows  that  fell  on  him, 
tried  to  close  and  to  get  those  long  green  teeth  of  his  into  the 
other  man's  soft  flesh.  And  the  girl  knew  it  and  screamed  a 
warning. 

"Mind — mind  as  he  doan't  bite  'ee,  mind  as  he  doan't  bite 
'ee.  Ah  God,  save  us,  he  be  mad !"  She  stooped,  she  fumbled 
in  the  dust,  she  found  what  she  sought  for,  a  flint,  a  jagged, 
heavy  flint.  There  was  hell  fire  in  Lestwick's  eyes,  the  pas- 
sionate rage  of  a  maniac.  This  she  saw  as  she  flung  the  stone. 
She  flung  it  straight  at  that  hideous,  convulsed  face. 

It  struck  Lestwick  on  the  forehead,  it  broke  the  skin 
and  the  blood  gushed  out.  He  turned,  he  looked  at  her, 
noting  it  was  her  hand  that  had  flung  it  He  laughed  a 
curiously  strange  mocking  laugh  and  then  he  collapsed, 
seemed  to  crumple  before  her  eyes  and  fall  a  limp  heap  in  the 
roadway. 

"What  did  you  do,  Betty,  Betty  what  have  you  done?" 

She  was  sobbing  and  laughing  at  once.  "He — he  meant  to 
kill  'ee,  meant  to  — to  get  they  teeth  o'  his  in  your  throat, 
Allan,  oh  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it!  Did — did  'ee  see  his  face, 
Allan,  did  'ee  see  his  face  and  his  eyes  ?  And  oh  they — they 
hands  o'  his!" 

"Go  into  the  house  quietly,  say  nothing  to  anyone,  bring 
water  quickly,  understand,  not  a  word  to  a  soul,  bring  water 
here  at  once!" 

He  went  down  on  his  knees  beside  the  man,  he  lifted  the 
sorely  battered  head,  the  hideous  blood  stained  face.  Yet  it 
was  not  hideous  now,  the  passion  was  smoothed  away,  the 
eyes  and  mouth  were  closed. 

She  was  back  with  the  water  in  but  a  few  seconds. 

"Be  he  dead?" 

"No!" 

Minutes  passed,  between  them  they  bathed  away  the  blood, 
they  cleaned  the  wound,  the  jagged  wound  in  his  forehead. 


Allan  bound  it  with  his  own  white  handkerchief  and  then  the 
man  opened  his  eyes,  now  they  were  dull  and  brooding.  He 
lifted  his  hand  and  passed  it  across  his  mouth,  as  a  man  does 
in  sheer  nervousness. 

"I — I  be  all  right!"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  low  and 
monotonous — "I  be  quite  all  right,  a  strong  man  I  be — 'tis 
time  I  were  going  home " 

"Yes,  it's  time  you  went  home/'  Allan  said,  he  ran  his 
hands  over  the  man's  clothing,  not  yet  trusting  him,  mis- 
doubting Lestwick's  strange  passionless  calm.  He  was 
searching  for  the  knife  that  twice  he  had  believed  the  man 
would  have  drawn  on  him,  but  there  was  no  knife  there. 

"What  be  'ee  looking  for?"  Lestwick  asked. 

"Your  knife!" 

"I  hain't  got  a  knife,  cruel  treacherous,  dangerous  things 
knives  be — I'll  be  getting  home " 

Allan  helped  him  to  his  feet,  the  man  stood  dazed,  sway- 
ing a  little,  then  he  seemed  to  take  hold  on  himself. 

"A  very  passionate  man  I  be,"  he  said,  "terribul  wrathful 

in  moments  of  anger "  He  looked  at  Allan  with  that 

strange  sullen  expression  of  his. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  did  say  or  du  anything  as  I  should 
not — 'tis  my  anger  as  du  master  I — I  wish  'ee  good  night !" 

He  turned  and  walked  slowly  and  unsteadily  down  the 
road.  Betty  caught  at  Allan's  arm,  and  they  stood  there, 
the  girl  clinging  to  the  man,  watching  him  go.  Once  Abram 
turned  his  head  and  looked  back,  he  saw  them  there  together, 
the  girl  and  the  man,  holding  to  one  another,  the  dusky  red 
came  into  his  cheek,  he  breathed  hard,  then  went  on  his  way, 
mumbling  to  himself. 

"A  knife — he  did  think  I  had  a  knife — what  du  I  need 

with  a  knife — bain't  I  got  my  hands ?"  He  held  them 

out  before  him  and  looked  at  them,  as  the  fingers  writhed 
and  clenched  and  unclenched.  "Terribul  powerful  my  hands 
be,  but  I  did  not  get  them  on  him — no,  not  then,  not 
then " 


THE  CONQUEROR  227 

Betty  had  broken  down  and  was  sobbing  and  moaning, 
clinging  to  Allan's  arm. 

"Betty,  hush,  hush  child,  hush  dear,  he  is  gone — there  is 
nothing  to  fear!" 

"But  he  will  come  back.  Oh,  Allan,  I  did  mean  to  kill 
he " 

"Hush !"  he  said  again. 

"For  he  meant  to  kill  'ee  and — and  Allan  he  will  think 
about  it  and  brood  about  it,  and  one  day  he  will  surely  kill 
'ee,  unless  'ee  du  watch  he  terribul,  terribul  close,  he  will 
kilTee!" 

He  laughed  softly.  "I  am  not  afraid  of  him,  Betty,  hush 
dear,  hush,  don't  cry !" 

For  she  was  sobbing  bitterly  and  pressing  her  face  against 
his  arm,  clinging  to  him  as  in  fear,  or  love,  or  both. 

"Hush!"  he  said.  "Come,  come,  child,  come!"  But 
his  hands  were  quivering  and  his  heart  seemed  to  be  beat- 
ing faster  than  usual,  "Come!"  he  said  again. 

"Oh  Allan,  Allan,  if  he  did  hurt  'ee,  I  would  want  to 
die !"  she  moaned.  "For  I  du ;  I  du  love  'ee — oh !  I  love  'ee 
terribul,  terribul  bad,  I  du!" 

"Betty,"  he  said,  "hush,  you  must  not !  hush !  come !"  He 
drew  her  through  the  little  arched  green  door  into  the  yard. 
He  himself  was  shaking  now,  trembling,  afraid  for  her,  afraid 
for  himself,  for  his  honour.  She  said  she  loved  him  and  she 
clung  to  him,  this  passionate  maiden.  What  mad  folly  it  all 
was,  what  mad  folly,  God  preserve  them  all ! 

"Betty  go  back,  go  into  the  house !"  he  said. 

"No,  no,  don't  let  me  leave  'ee,  Allan,  let  me  bide  wi7 
'ee  for  a  time!" 

He  felt  her  tears  on  his  hand,  the  hand  she  had  taken  and 
was  holding  tight  pressed  to  her  face. 

"Let  me  bide  wi'  'ee,  Allan,  Allan,  don't  'ee  send  me  away 
yet!" 

She  was  sobbing  unrestrainedly,  crying  aloud  as  a  child 
does,  and  he  feared  lest  any  servant  should  come  into  the 


228      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

yard  and  hearing  her,  find  them  here  together.  ITor  could 
he  send  her  back  into  the  house  for  others  to  see,  all  tears 
and  shaken  as  she  was.  But  stay  here  he  could  not  and 
would  not. 

"Come,"  he  said,  he  held  her  hand  tightly,  he  took  her 
through  the  little  gateway  into  the  garden.  Here  at  least 
they  would  be  safe  and  secure. 

"A — a — cowardly  maid  I  be,"  she  moaned,  "oh  a  coward 
I  be,  but  I  du  feel  safe  wi'  'ee,  Allan,  don't — don't  leave 
me !  Oh  sir,  I — I  du  forget " 

"That  does  not  matter  now,"  he  said,  "Betty,  try  and  com- 
pose yourself.  I  understand,  you  have  been  frightened,  poor 
child,  and  upset,  but — but  that  man  will  not  trouble  you 
again !" 

"You  doan't  know  he,"  she  said  quietly ;  "Allan  if  I — I  did 
think  that  I  must  marry  he,  I  would  go  and  drownd  myself 
in  the  pond,  the  pond  where  my  stone  maid  be !" 

"You  are  not  going  to  drown  yourself,  Betty"  he  said. 
"You  are  going  to  live  for  many  happy  years !" 

"How — how  can  I?" 

"There  are  other  men,  better  men  than  this  poor  fellow 
Lestwick !" 

"Oh  Allan,  du  'ee  pity  him  ?" 

"Yes,  for  loving  you  vainly,  child !" 

They  had  taken  a  roundabout  pathway  under  the  dense 
shadow  of  the  tall  yews  and  now  they  had  come  suddenly 
on  the  little  lake,  from  which  the  slender  white  figure  rose. 

"There  her  be,  there  be  my  stone  maid — and  one  day,  one 
day  I  will  go  to  her,  I  think  Allan !" 

"Hush !"  he  said.  "If  you  talk  in  this  way  I  shall  leave 
you !  Betty,  Betty,  be  brave,  brave  dear,  for  your  own  sake ! 
For — for  mine !"  his  voice  broke  a  little,  he  looked  down  at 
her,  her  lovely  little  face  was  upturned  to  his. 

And  oh  the  temptation  of  that  moment,  the  temptation  of 
those  red  lips,  those  eyes  all  filled  with  the  soft  light  of  her 
love,  the  love  that  she  felt  no  shame  to  admit.  His  for  the 


THE  CONQUEROR  229 

taking — his  he  seemed  to  know,  even  before  they  had  ever 
met — his  in  some  past  life,  his  now  and  through  all  time — 
his  in  the  life  yet  to  come. 

There  came  to  him  suddenly  a  great,  an  irresistible  desire, 
a  passionate  love  of  her,  the  desire  to  put  his  arms  about  her, 
to  hold  her  to  him  tightly,  tightly,  to  crush  his  lips  to  hers, 
and  she,  he  knew,  would  not  struggle,  would  not  deny  him. 

And  because  he  was  young,  because  the  lifeblood  ran  hot  in 
his  veins,  because  she  was  so  near  to  him,  so  alluring,  so 
loving,  so  beautiful,  God  help  him,  how  could  he  resist? 

"Betty,  Betty,  why  do  you  say  you  love  me?" 

"Du  'ee  not  know,  Allan,  why  I  love  'ee  ?"  she  said.  "Oh 
you  du !"  She  put  her  hands  against  his  breast,  she  looked  up 
into  his  face,  her  eyes  smiled  at  his,  her  lips  invited.  He 
bent  to  her,  she  could  feel  the  heavy,  the  wild  beating  of  his 
heart  under  her  little  hands,  and  there  came  to  her  a  sense 
of  joy,  of  triumph. 

A  cloud  drifted  across  the  moon,  it  blotted  out  for  a  mo- 
ment that  glowing,  inviting  little  face.  It  was  gone,  leaving 
but  an  indistinct  shape  of  whiteness. 

His  father!  his  wife! — his  old  father's  pride  in  him, 
Kathleen's  faith  in  him — Was  he  to  prove  himself  unworthy  ? 
Was  he  to  fall  at  this  first  temptation  ? 

"Allan,  my  Allan!"  she  said,  and  her  voice  came  to  him, 
soft  as  a  caress  from  out  of  the  darkness.  She  had  thought 
him  won,  had  believed  him  hers,  and  she  was  waiting  joy- 
ously, expectantly  for  the  kiss,  the  kiss  that  never  came. 

"Allan,  my  son,"  he  seemed  to  hear  the  old  voice  say,  that 
proud  and  tender  old  voice.  "Allan  my  husband!"  Her 
voice  now,  calling  him  back  to  a  sense  of  honour,  to  a  sense 
of  duty  and  right  and  he  heard  the  voices,  listened  to  them, 
heeded  them.  He  pushed  the  girl  away  gently. 

"Betty,  we  must  go  back  to  the  house,  child — they  will 
miss  me  and  wonder,  you  too,  you  may  be  wanted,  you  have 
dried  your  tears — go  back,  go  back" 


230      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Allan!"  she  said  and  her  voice  was  like  a  cry  of  pain. 
He  gripped  her  little  hands  and  held  them  tightly,  then  he 
let  them  go. 

"Go  back!"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  harsh  and  stern, 
yet  it  was  the  voice  of  his  better  self — the  conqueror! 


CHAPTEE   XXVIH 

THE  WATCHES 

A  MAN  seated  in  the  shadows  watched  them  part,  for  the 
moon  had  come  out  again,  watched  them  part  as  he  had 
watched  them  come,  as  he  had  watched  them  standing  there 
together  on  the  edge  of  the  pool.  To  him,  the  watcher,  it 
had  seemed  that  the  girl  was  in  the  man's  arms,  her  face  up- 
lifted to  his — he  had  seen  the  moonlight  on  her  face  and  had 
seen  the  dull  glimmer  of  her  hair. 

And  the  man — yes,  he  thought  that  he  made  no  mistake — 
about  the  man !  So  Mr.  Coombe  was  right,  clever,  farseeing, 
sensible  Mr.  Coombe — God's  blessings  on  Mr.  Coombe  for  his 
few  idle  words  that  meant  so  much  to  this  man  watching  here 
in  the  shadows. 

He  did  not  move.  He  scarcely  breathed,  as  the  girl  passed 
him,  alone  on  her  way  to  the  house.  He  heard  her  sobbing 
softly  to  herself  as  she  went,  saw  the  little  head  bent  as  in 
shame. 

And  to  the  watcher  it  seemed  that  she  went  in  shame  and 
he  was  glad — Heaven  knew  how  glad  he  was ! 

Yet  he  must  make  no  mistake,  he  must  not  trust  to  intui- 
tion, to  mere  suspicion.  He  must  know  beyond  the  shadow  of 
a  doubt  that  this  man  was  Allan  Homewood — 'Her*  husband. 

Scarsdale  rose,  the  man  was  still  standing  by  the  edge  of 
the  pool,  the  girl  had  gone  some  while.  Scarsdale  walking 
softly  on  the  turf,  skirted  the  hedge  and  came  out  on  the 
broad  flagged  pathway.  He  walked  leisurely  towards  the 
pool  and  seemed  to  see  the  other  man  for  the  first  time. 

"Hello!"  he  said.     "Who  is  here?" 

"I "  Allan  turned  to  him. 

231 


232      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"You — oh  Homewood,  is  that  you,  my  host?" 

So  it  was  true.  He  felt  a  sudden  liking  for  this  mart,  he 
felt  he  loved  him  for  his  weakness  and  his  sin,  for  would  not 
that  weakness,  that  sin  give  him  that  which  he  wanted  most  ? 
They  talked  of  the  night,  of  the  old  garden,  of  the  sweet  soft 
English  country  air.  Scarsdale  spoke  of  the  damp  night  heat 
of  that  country  which  had  been  the  prison  of  his  body  and 
soul. 

He  was  a  good  talker  when  he  pleased  and  to-night  he 
wished  to  please.  He  wanted  this  man's  liking — he  exerted 
himself  to  gain  it  and  yet  felt  a  deep  contempt  of  himself 
while  he  strove. 

He  spoke  of  fights  with  savages,  of  fights  against  disease 
and  death,  of  perils  that  made  the  blood  run  cold.  Yet  he 
did  not  boast  or  brag.  Dimly  Allan  realised  that  the  man 
who  was  speaking  was  the  hero  of  these  adventures,  but 
Scarsdale  never  said  so. 

"You  were  long  away  from  England,  Scarsdale?" 

"A  thousand  years!"  Scarsdale  said,  he  laughed  softly, 
"according  to  the  calendar;  ten  years,  to  me  a  thousand! 
Thank  God  to  be  back !"  He  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Will  you  go  back  again  ?" 

"It  depends,  I  do  not  know,  I  may,  yet  I  hope  not  I" 

"Perhaps  you  have  come  to  seek  a  wife?" 

"Yes!" 

"But  could  you  take  her  to  this  place  of  which  you  have 
been  telling  me?" 

"God  forbid!" 

"So  it  depends  on  your  success  witH  tEe  lady  whether  you 
remain  in  England  or  go  back  ?" 

"Yes,  it  depends  on  that!" 

"You  and  Kathleen  are  old  friends  ?" 

"I  knew  her  when  she  was  a  child,  I  hoped  that  she  would 
not  have  forgotten  me  I" 

"And  she  did  not,  Kathleen  would  not,  she  never  for- 
gets!" 


THE  WATCHER  233 

Strange  that  Allan  should  say  this,  here  beside  the  pool 
where  he  and  Kathleen  had  stood  but  a  few  hours  ago. 
"Kathleen  never  forgets !"  The  words  sounded  to  Scarsdale 
like  an  ill  onien,  he  shivered  a  little.  Then  he  smiled  at  his 
own  thoughts  and  his  thoughts  were — "The  shame  shall  be 
this  man's,  not  hers.  Her  freedom  shall  come  to  her  without 
a  breath  of  scandal  to  touch  her  fair  name — but  she  shall  be 
free — and  those  ten  years  of  waiting,  ten  years  of  constancy, 
ten  years  of  love  must  find  their  reward " 

They  sat  down  on  the  stone  seat  beside  the  sundial,  the 
stillness  and  darkness  of  the  garden  about  them,  the  perfume 
of  the  flowers  in  the  air.  A  place  to  sit  and  dream  in.  Many 
windows  were  lighted  in  the  old  house,  sending  out  friendly 
warm  yellow  rays  of  light  into  the  night.  From  the  house 
came  the  distant  sound  of  music,  a  woman's  voice,  deep,  rich 
and  beautiful,  even  more  beautiful  mellowed  by  the  dis- 
tance. 

She  was  singing  and  both  men  were  silent,  listening. 

Thank  God,  thank  God  presently  he  could  go  in  and  take 
her  hand  and  face  her,  look  into  her  eyes,  with  no  memory 
of  guilt  and  of  shame  to  stand  between  them  to  mar  the 
perfect  understanding  and  the  deep  friendship  that  was  so 
sweet  to  both  of  them. 

Thank  God !  Thank  God  that  he  had  mastered  the  tempta- 
tion, the  passion  of  just  now!  It  had  gone  utterly.  Yet  he 
felt  a  great  tenderness,  a  great  love  for  the  little  maid  who 
would  have  given  herself  as  she  had  given  her  love  to  him. 

And  now  Scarsdale  was  talking,  exerting  himself  to  talk  in 
his  low,  deep,  strong,  man's  voice.  He  was  trying  to  win  this 
other  man's  liking  and  friendship,  for  he  had  an  object  in 
view.  On  Monday,  at  the  latest  Tuesday,  this  little  house 
party  would  break  up,  they  would  all  go  their  separate  ways 
and  he  wanted  to  stay,  as  a  few  hours  ago  realising  defeat 
and  failure,  he  had  wanted  to  go.  Now  with  a  new  hope  in 
his  breast  he  wished  to  remain. 

What  they  talked  of  mattered  little,  of  everyday  things, 


234      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

of  commonplaces,  but  Scarsdale  worked  steadily  towards  the 
object  he  had  in  view. 

"After  ten  years — I  went  away  a  mere  boy,  I  knew  but  a 
few  people,  my  father,  who  is  dead  since  then,  others  who 
have  passed  out  of  my  life.  I  come  back  to  England  a 
stranger  among  strangers.  To  me  London  is  a  desert,  I  walk 
its  streets,  looking  vainly  for  a  familiar  face ;  I  know  no  one, 
no  one  who  passes  knows  me !" 

"But  you  found  Lord  Gowerhurst  2" 

"Yes,  he  remembered  me " 

"You  and  he  were  good  friends  ?" 

"No,  as  a  boy  I  disliked  him,  may  I  say  it  to  you  ?" 

"But  Kathleen  and  you  were  friends  ?" 

"A — a  boy  and  girl  friendship — -she  has  grown  into  a  sweet 
and  lovely  woman — I  shall  think  of  this  place,  of  her,  of  you 
and  of  your  happiness,  of  the  tranquil  calm  of  this  when  I 
am  back  out  there  again — even  when  I  am  back  in  that  Lon- 
don that  I  do  not  know  and  that  knows  me  not  I" 

"Is  there  haste  for  you  to  return  to  London  ?" 

"Haste — every  hour  I  remain  out  of  it  I  feel  I  am  gain- 
ing something !" 

"Then  why  hurry  back?"  asked  Allan  in  his  hospitable 
generosity.  "Why  go  back  ?  Lord  Gowerhurst  is  eager  for 
his  Club,  his  billiards,  his  cards,  his  manservant.  My  father 
and  his  friends  have  their  businesses,  but  you — why  go 
back?" 

Scarsdale  murmured  something  about  imposing  himself — 
Allan  laughed. 

"Stay  and  believe  me  we  shall  be  glad — Kathleen  will  be 
glad  to  hear  that  you  are  staying  awhile  with  us — come,  you 
will  stay,  eh?" 

"It  would  give  me  more  pleasure  than  you  can  know!" 
Scarsdale  said.  » 

Allan  laughed,  for  him  there  was  no  double  meaning  in  the 
other  man's  words. 

He  had  gained  his  point,  his  host  had  asked  him  to  remain 


THE  WATCHER  235 

on  indefinitely,  for  days,  weeks*  even,  there  would  be  no  time 
limit  now. 

"It  is  good  of  you,  Homewood — you  don't  realise  how  I 
appreciate  it — my  opportunities  of  seeing  home  life,  such  as 
this,  are  not  many !" 

"But  the  lady  you  hope  to  marry  ?"  Allan  asked. 

Scarsdale  rose. 

"Sho  is  not  for  me — yet "  he  said  steadily.  "Thank 

you  again,  Hoincwood,  may  I  tell  your  wife  that  you  have 
asked  me  to  remain?" 

"She  will  be  as  pleased  as  I  am!"  Allan  said  simply. 

Scarsdale  turned  to  the  house,  he  left  Allan  sitting  there 
and  Allan  rested  his  chin  on  his  hands.  He  was  not  deeply 
religious.  He  had  prayed,  as  men  do,  by  fits  and  starts,  in 
moments  of  anxiety,  in  moments  of  relief  and  gratitude.  But 
his  heart  was  offering  up  thanksgiving  now.  He  had  been 
delivered  from  temptation.  He  thanked  God  for  it,  for  his 
own  sake  and  for  hers,  that  child's,  for  his  father's  sake,  for 
Kathleen's. 

But  temptation  might  assail  him  again,  would — and  he, 
knowing  his  own  weakness  now,  knowing  how  nearly  he  had 
succumbed  to  it,  must  do  that  thing  that  even  brave  men 
may  do  and  yet  still  keep  their  honour.  He  must  avoid  it, 
he  must  shun  it,  even  flee  from  it  if  necessary — but  how  ? 

Betty  or  he  must  go  and  how  could  he  when  this  was  his 
home,  when  all  his  interests  were  here?  How  could  he  go, 
how  could  be  explained  his  reason  for  flight  ?  No,  it  must  be 
she  who  must  go ! 

"I  must  think,  I  must  plan,  I  must  consider  her,  yes,  con- 
sider her  in  every  way,  but  she  must  go." 


M 


CHAPTEK   XXIX 

WHY  ABRAM  LESTWICK  STAYED  FEOM  CHTTECH 

RS.  COLLEY  wagged  her  ancient  head,  she  looked  at 
her  granddaughter  and  smiled,  shewing  toothless 
gums. 

"Du  'ee  notice  now  as  Ahram  hain't  in  Church  this  morn- 
ing, my  gell  ?" 

'Lizbeth  Colley  frowned,  "Ahram  Lestwick's  comings  and 
goings  du  not  interest  I,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

The  service  was  in  progress.  There  sat  Mrs.  Hanson,  prim 
and  stiffly  upright,  the  place  heside  her  that  had  for  so  long 
been  Betty's  was  still  vacant.  There  was  Miss  Dowell,  tall, 
angular  and  lantern  jawed,  gifted  with  a  harsh  and  nasal 
voice  that  rose  above  all  other  voices  when  the  hymns  were 
being  sung,  beyond  her,  her  niece  little  Mary  Tiffley,  who 
minded  Miss  Dowell's  shop,  ran  her  unimportant  errands, 
cleaned  her  house  and  stye,  windows  and  floors,  a  useful, 
hard  working  little  maid  Mary,  a  good  wife  in  the  making 
for  some  man  who  would  probably  work  her  even  harder  than 
did  her  Aunt  Emily.  And  beyond  Mary,  that  vacant  space 
towards  which  Mrs.  Colley's  small  bright  eyes  had  been  at- 
tracted. 

Abram  Lestwick,  regular  and  devout  worshipper,  always 
occupied  this  place.  He  had  knelt  beside  Mary  Tiffley,  had 
shared  his  torn  and  tattered  hymn  book  with  her,  had  thun- 
dered the  responses  in  her  little  ears  and  it  is  doubtful  if  he 
had  ever  looked  at  the  round  childish  pretty  face. 

Mary  Tiffley,  Polly  Ransom,  Ann  (reach,  what  were  they 
to  him,  he  to  them  ?  What  mattered  it  to  Abram  Lestwick 
that  they  were  pleasant  to  look  on,  that  they  were  fine, 
healthy  country  maids,'  any  one  of  whom  would  make  some 

236 


LESTWICK  STAYED  FROM  CHURCH  237 

man  a  good  wife?  He  did  not  consider  them,  they  did  not 
exist  for  him.  He  could  not  have  told  from  memory  whether 
Mary  Tiffley  had  fair  hair  or  dark.  He  had  sat  next  to  her  in 
Church ;  he  had  bellowed  the  same  hymns  with  her  for  five 
years,  since  she  was  a  child  of  twelve,  she  had  grown  up  be- 
side him  and  he  had  not  noticed  it 

"Aunt  Emily,  Mister  Lestwick  bain't  in  Church  this 
marning,"  whispered  Mary. 

"I  see  him  bain't,"  said  Miss  Dowell.  "Mind  your  de- 
votions now  and  don't  'ee  getting  looking  about  'ee." 

"Mortal  glad  I  du  be,"  Mary  thought,  "that  he  bain't  here, 
for  his  fingers  do  fidget  I  something  terribul,  they  du." 

Everyone  in  Church  noted  the  fact  that  Abram  Lestwick 
was  not  there.  Compared  with  the  women,  there  were  notice- 
ably few  men  in  Church,  Abram  was  always  a  distinguished 
figure  and  they  missed  him. 

Presently  the  sermon,  which  they  knew  by  heart,  was 
drawing  towards  its  natural  conclusion.  When  the  Rector 
arrived  at — "And  so  it  behooves  ua  to  bear  these  things  in 
mind.  Let  us  put  covetousness  out  of  our  heart,  let  us  be 
content  with  that  which  we  have,  no  matter  how  poor  or  how 
lowly  be  our  lots  in  life.  Let  us  accept  God's  goodness  with 
thankful  hearts  asking  for  no  more  than  it  pleaseth  Him  to 
give — and " 

They  knew  from  long  experience  that  the  sermon  would 
conclude  in  exactly  two  minutes  from  this  point  and  now  there 
was  a  general  movement,  a  rustling  of  Sunday  dresses,  a 
shuffling  of  young  feet,  eager  to  be  out  scampering  on  the 
grass,  or  on  the  good  high  road. 

There  was  that  movement  in  the  little  Church  that  takes 
place  in  a  railway  carriage  when  the  long,  long  journey  is 
nearing  its  end,  when  the  station  is  almost  gained. 

Mrs.  Colley  stepped  out  briskly  and  smartly  into  the  sun- 
shine. 

"A  spryer  woman  I  be  than  Mrs.  Hanson,  aye,  a  spryer  and 
a  nimbler  I  be,  so  as  one  'ud  take  I  for  being  ten  years 


23<)      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

younger,  though  we  were  at  school  together.  See  how  stiff 
du  be  her  walk,  how  she  du  lean  on  her  umber-rella.  'Lizheth, 
take  notice  how  her  hand  du  shake  remarkable !  Good  mam- 
ing  to  'ee,  Mrs.  Hanson,  and  'tis  a  lovely  fine  day." 

"  'Tis :"  said  Mrs.  Hanson  briefly. 

"A  fine  marning  and  a  good  sarmint,"  said  Mrs.  Colley. 

"  'Tis  my  favrit  sarmint,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson,  "I  were  al- 
ways partial  to  Nabob's  vineyard." 

"Miss  Dowell  du  be  ageing  terribul,"  said  Mrs.  Colley. 

Mrs.  Hanson  sniffed.  She  felt  that  she  was  ageing  herself, 
she  missed  the  maid,  though  she  would  not  admit  it  to  herself. 
Perilous  bad  was  that  maid  and  disobedient,  and  she,  Mrs. 
Hanson,  was  a  stern,  unbending,  unyielding  woman. 

"Miss  Dowell's  Mary  be  growing  to  a  fine  maid !"  said  Mrs. 
Hanson.  She  was  approaching  the  vacant  space  in  the  pew 
as  it  were,  step  by  step. 

"I  have  never  noticed  she,  pertickler,  I  remember  her 
mother,  one  of  they  empty  heads  as  I  never  could  abide." 

"I  noticed,"  said  Mrs.  Colley,  "I  noticed  Mrs.  Hanson 

"So  did  I !"  said  Mrs.  Hanson,  "Abram  Lestwick  were  not 
in  Church,  I  noticed  it  tu." 

"  'Tis  the  first  time " 

"  'Tis  his  own  business  and  'tis  not  yours  nor  mine." 

Mrs.  Colley  bridled.  "I  du  notice  a  great  change  in  Abram, 
and  if  what  I  du  hear  be  half  true,  that  maid  of  yours  hev 
played  Abram  a  bad  trick,  leaving  him  in  the  lurk  like  and 
going  and  getting  sarvice  in  the  big  house." 

"I  will  thank  'ee,  Mrs.  Colley,  not  to  interfere  wi'  me  and 
my  affairs.  My  grand-darter  had  her  own  rights  to  get  any 
place  as  she  did  chose,  and  whoever  hev  been  saying  ill 
things  o'  she — I  would  hev  took  it  friendly  and  neighbourly, 
seeing  me  and  you  went  to  school  together  as  young  things, 
I — I.  say  I  would  hev  took  it  neighbourly  and  friendly  if  you 
had  up  and  spoke  for  the  maid." 


LESTWICK  STAYED  FROM  CHURCH  239 

"And  how  did  'ee  know  as  I  didn't?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Colley  shrilly. 

"Because  I  du  know  your  tongue,  Ann  Colley  and  knowed 
it  of  old  I  du,  and  it's  a  tongue  as  would  sooner  speak  ill 
things  of  your  neighbours  than  good  things  and — and  I  wish 
'ee  good  marning,  Mrs.  Colley,  and  my  bes'  respects  to  'ee!" 
And  shaking  her  old  umbrella,  Mrs.  Hanson  marched  on,  a 
tall  gaunt  figure  of  a  woman. 

It  had  worried  her  too,  that  Abram  was  not  in  Church, 
she  disliked  changes ;  she  had  come  to  look  for  Abram  in  his 
place  every  pleasant  Sunday  morning,  and  every  unpleasant 
one  too  for  the  matter  of  that.  But  fine  or  dirty  the  weather, 
Abram  had  never  failed  till  to-day. 

"There  be  something  wrong,"  Mrs.  Hanson  thought.  "I 
mislike  it,  Abram  not  being  in  his  place,  I  missed  his  voice 
in  that  'ymn  which  we  did  have  to-day;  and  which  he  was  al- 
ways partial  to." 

Not  for  days  had  she  spoken  to  Abram.  He  passed  the 
cottage  regularly,  he  touched  his  hat  politely  when  he  saw 
Mrs.  Hanson,  for  he  was  a  polite  man.  But  he  had  never 
crossed  the  threshold  since  Betty  had  got  her  place  in  the 
big  house. 

But  Mrs.  Hanson  had  heard  things  from  others  than  Ann 
Colley.  She  had  heard  how  Abram  patiently  and  stolidly 
spent  two  hours  every  night  staring  at  the  arched  green  door- 
way in  the  wall  of  Homewood,  through  which  doorway  he 
knew  must  come  Betty  sooner  or  later. 

Mrs.  Hanson  sat  down  to  her  Sunday  dinner,  it  was  a 
frugal  meal  of  cold  boiled  bacon,  a  cold  potato  and  a  piece  of 
bread.  Mrs.  Hanson  was  a  strict  Sabbatarian.  Many  and 
many  a  time  when  Betty  had  dared  to  remonstrate  about  the 
Sunday  fare,  Mrs.  Hanson  had  said  to  her. 

"Kemember  my  maid,  as  you  du  keep  holy  the  Sabbath 
day.  Six  days  shalt  'ee  labour  and  do  your  work,  and  not 
a  potato  will  I  have  cooked  in  house  of  mine  on  the  Seventh 


240     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

day,  which  be  the  day  of  the  Lord,  thy  God,  nor  baked  nor 
biled  meats  will  I  hev." 

"But  'ee  du  bile  the  kettle,  Grandmother,  for  to  make  a 
cup  of  tea  on  Sundays  same  as  other  days !"  Betty  had  said. 

"That  be  a  different  thing,  tea  one  must  hev;  the  Lord 
would  not  hev  sent  we  tea  if  He  had  not  meant  we  to  bile 
a  kittle  to  make  it  with." 

"Nor  potatoes,"  Betty  thought,  "if  they  were  not  to  be 
cooked.  After  all,  why  was  it  a  sin  to  boil  water  in  a  sauce- 
pan and  no  sin  to  boil  it  in  a  kettle." 

So  Mrs.  Hanson  sat  down  to  cold  bacon.  Primly  and 
stiffly  she  sat  and  mumbled  the  bacon  between  her  hard  gums, 
but  she  was  not  thinking  of  the  carnal  pleasure  of  feasting, 
her  thoughts  were  of  Abram  Lestwick. 

Strange  that  he  was  not  at  Church,  strange  that  he  should 
have  missed  on  such  a  fine  Sunday  after  all  these  years ! 

"Something  must  ail  he,"  thought  Mrs.  Hanson  and  was 
surprised  that  the  idea  had  not  occurred  to  her  before. 

Mrs.  Hanson  finished  her  meal,  she  washed  her  plate  in 
cold  water,  she  set  it  on  the  dresser.  She  put  on  her  bonnet 
again,  she  took  her  umbrella  and  locked  the  cottage  door  be- 
hind her. 

Abram's  cottage  was  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away  and 
Mrs.  Hanson  was  feeling  her  age  to-day.  But  she  walked 
the  distance,  she  reached  the  cottage  and  tapped  on  the  door. 

"Come  in!" 

Mrs.  Hanson  went  in.  Abram,  dressed  with  his  usual  care, 
was  seated  in  a  stiff  chair,  drawn  up  to  a  round  table.  On 
the  table,  which  was  covered  with  a  red  flannel  table  cloth, 
was  a  large  Bible.  Abram  was  reading  from  the  Bible,  fol- 
lowing the  lines  as  he  read  them  with  his  long,  flat  tipped 
finger. 

Abram's  face  was  battered  and  scarred,  there  was  a  deep 
gash  on  the  forehead,  there  were  livid  marks  under  his  right 
eye,  on  his  left  cheek,  and  a  contused  wound  on  his  upper  lip. 

Mrs.  Hanson  looked  at  him,  but  she  said  nothing. 


LESTWICK  STAYED  FROM  CHURCH  241 

"I  wish  you  good  marning,  Mrs.  Hanson,  and  beg  of  you 
to  be  seated,"  said  Abram. 

Mrs.  Hanson  sat  down. 

In  higher  circles  educated  and  polite  people  are  apt  to 
remark  on  any  facial  disturbance  of  a  temporary  disfiguring 
nature  that  may  have  befallen  their  friends.  In  Mrs.  Han- 
son's circle  it  would  have  been  considered  bad  form. 

"It  were  remarked  in  Church,  this  marning,  Abram,  as 
'ee  was  not  present." 

"I  were  not!"  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her,  the 
light  shone  in  from  the  window  and  illuminated  his  battered 
countenance. 

"So  being  an  old  friend " 

"And  very  considerate  of  'ee,  Mrs.  Hanson,"  he  said.  "I 
will  finish  my  chapter,"  he  added. 

She  sat  there  waiting,  she  watched  him  as  with  the  fore- 
finger of  his  right  hand,  which  appeared  to  her  to  be  ab- 
normally long  and  curiously  flattened  at  the  end,  he  traced 
a  line  across  the  page,  stopping  at  every  word,  which  though 
he  uttered  it  not  aloud,  he  evidently  formed  by  muscular  ex- 
ertion of  his  jaws.  His  left  hand  not  being  engaged  with  the 
book  was  twisting  and  tearing  the  edge  of  the  red  flannel 
table  cloth. 

Mrs.  Hanson  shut  her  eyes,  she  could  hear  Abram's  stertor- 
ous breathing,  then  she  heard  a  movement.  He  had  evi- 
dently finished,  he  closed  the  book  solemnly. 

"I  hev  finished  my  chapter,"  he  said;  "spiritual  comfort 
be  a  very  great  blessing,  Mrs.  Hanson." 

"Ah !"  she  said.  "We  had  Nabob's  vineyard  for  the  sar- 
mint  to-day,  Abram,  and  'ymn  seventy-two,  as  I  know  'ee  be 
partial  to." 

He  nodded. 

She  wondered  if  he  would  tell  her  about  his  face,  not  for 
all  the  world  would  she  transgress  the  unwritten  laws  of 
politeness  and  ask  for  an  explanation.  The  reason,  however, 
why  he  had  not  been  present  at  Church  was  obvious. 


242      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Last  night,"  he  said  after  a  long  pause,  "last  night  I 
see  the  maid " 

"Betty?" 

"There  be  but  one  maid  for  me,  Mrs.  Hanson,  and  it  be 
onnecessarj  for  me  to  give  a  name  to  she  when  I  say  the  Maid 
'ee  will  understand." 

"Aye!"  she  said. 

"Her  still  keeps  contrairywise,"  said  Abram. 

"Her  will  give  way,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson,  "maids  du !" 

Abram's  right  hand  was  trying  to  tear  scraps  from  the 
worn  leather  of  the  corner  of  the  book,  his  left  was  still  en- 
gaged with  the  tablecloth. 

He  was  looking  at  Mrs.  Hanson,  it  seemed  as  if  he  was 
trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to  say  something,  several  times 
he  opened  his  mouth  and  as  many  times  closed  it  again  in 
silence. 

"Well  Abram,  I  must  be  getting  along,"  she  said  it  to  urge 
him  to  speech. 

"I  would  beg  of  'ee  to  take  a  cup  of  tea  wi'  me,"  he  said, 
"but  Sunday  be  a  day  of  fasting  and  repentance  and  prayer, 
Mrs.  Hanson,  Ma'am !  And  moreover  the  fire  hev  gone  out, 

Mrs.  Hanson "  Again  he  hesitated.  "Mrs.  Hanson, 

hev  'ee  ever  met  Mr.  Homewood " 

"The  barron-ite  one,"  she  asked,  "or  the  young  one  as  be 
master  ?" 

"The  young  one." 

"Aye,  I  hev  met  he  and  spoke  to  he  and  a  very  pleasant 
spoken  gentleman  he  be." 

"Oh  he  be  a  very  pleasant  spoken  gentleman — a  very 
pleasant  spoken  one,  I  du  know !"  A  spasm  seemed  to  pass 
across  the  man's  face,  his  fingers  clenched  suddenly,  she 
heard  his  long  nails  rasp  over  the  leather  cover  of  the  book. 
Looking  she  could  see  a  series  of  deep  scratches  they  had 
furrowed  in  the  stout  leather. 

"Why  Abram  bain't  'ee  well  to-day  ?" 

"I  be  very  well,  I  thank  'ee,  Mrs.  Hanson,  I  be  enjoying 


LESTWICK  STAYED  FROM  CHURCH  243 

unusual  good  health,  I  thank  'ee.  I  did  not  come  to  Church 
this  marning  because — because  in  the  dark  last  night — I  did 
stumble  and  fell  as  'ee  may  have  noticed,  Mrs.  Hanson." 

That  he  was  lying,  that  it  was  no  stumble,  no  fall,  she 
knew.  Had  it  something  to  do  with  Betty  and  why  had  he 
asked  her  if  she  knew  Allan  Homewood? 

"And  as  'ee  said  'ee  must  be  getting  along "  he  sug- 
gested. She  rose  to  her  feet,  it  was  a  hint,  a  broad  one  ar.d 
she  took  it. 

"Aye!  I  must  be  getting  along,  Abram,"  she  said. 

He  saw  her  to  the  door,  he  went  to  the  gate  and  opened  it 
for  her. 

"I  thank  'ee  most  politely  for  coming  and  calling,  and  I 
wish  'ee  good  day,  Mrs.  Hanson!" 

He  stood  watching  the  tall  upright  figure  down  the  road. 

"Her  be  ageing,"  he  said  to  himself,  "ageing  her  be." 

He  went  back  into  the  cottage  and  closed  the  door  after 
him.  He  took  the  Bible  and  placed  it  on  the  small  round 
table  in  the  window,  on  the  Bible  he  laid  an  antimacassar,  on 
that  a  small  glass  case  containing  some  flowers  contrived  in 
wool. 

Then  he  stood  still,  he  lifted  his  hands  so  that  they  were 
between  him  and  the  light,  he  looked  at  them  as  though  ex- 
amining them  curiously. 

"A  very  pleasant  spoken  gentleman  he  be!"  And  then  he 
laughed  curiously. 


THE  BELIGION  OF   SIB  JOSIAH 

FROM  Kathleen's  window  the  garden  glowing  in  the 
white  sunshine  was  a  feast  of  vivid  colour.  To-day 
old  Markabee,  in  clean  smock  and  respectable  though  ancient 
high  hat,  had  wended  his  way  to  the  village  church,  in 
obedience  to  the  persistent  clanging  of  the  unmusical  bell. 
But  the  bell  was  silent  now,  its  noisy  clamour  was  stilled  and 
the  peace  and  calm  of  the  day  of  rest  brooded  over  the  place. 

Kathleen  sat,  her  chin  resting  on  her  hands,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  old  garden,  yet  seeing  nothing  of  it. 

To  her  within  the  last  few  hours  had  come  knowledge,  a 
•wonderful  knowledge,  knowledge  that  brought  with  it  a 
strange  fear  and  yet  a  great  joy.  She  knew  that  she  was  to 
fulfil  her  woman's  destiny.  At  first  she  had  been  inclined  to 
question  that  knowledge,  to  doubt  it,  then  she  had  waived 
doubts  aside.  It  was  to  be !  and  why  should  it  not  be  ?  She 
asked  herself,  was  she  glad  ?  Was  she  sorry  ?  She  could  find 
no  answer  at  first,  just  at  first  her  one  thought  was  "fear." 
But  it  passed  quickly  and  in  its  place  came  pride — pride  and 

joy- 
Glad — yes,  she  was  glad — her  eyes  were  bright  with  the 
joy  that  had  come  to  her,  there  was  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and 
yet  about  that  smile  there  was  a  shade  of  melancholy  and 
sadness  and  a  little  too  of  the  wistfulness  of  hunger.  For 
strangely,  of  the  one  knowledge,  had  been  born  another. 

She  had  come  to  understand  something  which  she  had 
been  faintly  coriscious  of  for  a  long  while  past,  something 
that  she  had  thought  of  perhaps  yesterday  when  she  had  stood 
beside  the  pool,  listening  to  Harold  Scarsdale. 

244 


THE  RELIGION  OF  SIR  JOSIAH  245 

£ 

That  other  knowledge  that  she  had  gained  made  her  un- 
derstand now  why  that  parting  with  Scarsdale  had  cost  her 
so  little  anguish,  so  small  a  heartache.  She  had  pitied  him, 
yet  not  herself,  and  then  she  had  not  known  why  this  should 
be,  yet  she  knew  it  now. 

And  so,  after  ten  years  dreaming,  she  had  awakened  to 
find  that  the  dream  was  but  a  dream  after  all. 

Presently  into  the  garden  came  two  who  walked  side  by 
side,  the  one  tall  and  upright  and  strong,  the  other  a  hale  and 
hearty  man,  yet  lacking  the  spring  of  youth  in  his  sure 
steps.  She  watched  them  and  there  came  into  her  eyes  a  new 
light,  a  light  born  of  wonderful  tenderness,  into  her  fair 
cheeks  came  a  faint  colour. 

She  saw  the  younger  put  his  arm  about  the  elder's  shoulder. 
How  they  loved  one  another,  those  two,  father  and  son. 

"I  want  to  tell  him,  I  want  him  to  know  and  yet — yet  I 
dare  not  tell  him!"  she  thought.  "Still,  oh  I  want  him  to 
know !  I  wonder,  will  he  be  glad  and  proud,  proud  as  I  am  ? 
Or  will  he — be  sorry  ?"  Her  head  sank  a  little.  "He  would 
be  proud  and  glad  if  he  loved  me " 

"Allan!"  she  said  softly,  "Allan!" 

It  seemed  almost  as  if  from  her  brain  there  fled  a  message 
to  his,  for  he  turned,  he  looked  up  at  her  and  smiled. 

And  the  sunshine  was  on  his  brown  honest  face  and  in  hia 
clear  eyes.  He  could  only  see  the  smile  she  had  for  him,  he 
could  not  read  at  this  distance  the  message  in  her  eyes,  a 
new  message,  one  that  they  had  never  sent  to  him  before,  a 
message  of  a  newly  found  yet  great  and  sure  and  strong  love. 

And  now,  as  she  watched  him,  she  knew  why  yesterday  she 
had  been  able  to  turn  that  leaf,  in  the  book  of  her  life  with 
scarce  a  heartache. 

She  knew  the  truth  now,  she  had  idealised  the  child's  love, 
she  had  lived  on  the  ideal,  had  tended  it  and  cared  for  it 
and  worshipped  it  and  had  made  it  the  most  beautiful  and 
wonderful  thing  in  her  life.  She  had  built  for  herself  a 
great  and  wonderful  palace  and  had  found  that  its  founda- 


246     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

tions  were  laid  on  the  shifting  sands,  and  so  the  dream  palace 
had  crumbled  and  fallen  into  utter  ruin,  the  dream  had  ended, 
and  with  clear  eyes  she  beheld  the  truth. 

This  morning  Scarsdale  had  told  her  quietly  that  he  had 
been  asked  to  stay  by  Allan.  He  had  watched  her  curiously 
while  he  told  her,  had  wondered  if  she  would  shew  anger  or 
annoyance,  and  she  had  shewn  neither. 

She  was  only  the  gracious  hostess  who  expressed  her  pleas- 
ure at  his  continued  stay. 

<fWhen  our  other  friends  are  gone,  I  am  afraid  you  will 
find  it  very  dull,  unless  you  are  interested  in  those  things 
that  Allan  is  interested  in — this  modern,  scientific  farming." 
She  smiled  at  him,  there  was  no  self-consciousness. 

Yesterday  might  never  have  been,  all  the  years,  all  their 
memories  might  never  have  been.  This  man  was  her  guest, 
her  husband's  friend — his  guest  from  this  moment,  nothing 
more.  She  was  not  playing  a  part,  she  was  not  cheating 
herself.  Yesterday  she  had  told  him  that  as  lovers  they  had 
parted  forever,  as  mere  friends  they  would  probably  meet 
many  times,  and  so  it  was. 

Harold  Scarsdale  represented  nothing  to  her  now ;  he  was 
even  less  her  friend  henceforth  than  her  husband's. 

He  had  wondered  at  the  far-away  look  in  her  eyes,  at  the 
almost  mechanical  way  in  which  she  had  accepted  his  news. 
How  could  he  guess  how  utterly  and  completely  her  thoughts 
were  filled  with  this  knowledge,  the  greatest,  most  wonderful 
that  ever  comes  into  a  woman's  life  ? 

And  so  she  sat  here  by  her  window  and  watched  the  fig- 
ures of  the  two  men,  both  dear  to  her,  but  one  grown  sud- 
denly so  wonderfully,  so  inexpressibly  dear  that  the  strength 
and  depth  of  her  love  almost  made  her  afraid. 

In  spite  of  the  smile  he  had  given  Kathleen  a  while  ago, 
there  was  this  morning  a  cloud  on  Allan's  brow,  a  weight 
of  care  on  his  heart  He  was  worried  and  anxious,  he 
wanted  to  do  what  was  right,  he  wanted  to  act  justly  and 
honourably,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  afraid — afraid  for 


THE  RELIGION  OF  SIR  JOSIAH  247 

himself,  afraid  of  a  man's  weakness,  afraid  of  temptation 
that  he  would  willingly  flee  if  he  could. 

Long  ago  he  had  promised  to  be  open  and  honest  witH 
Kathleen,  had  promised  to  tell  her  if  that  which  had  been 
so  unreal,  so  intangible,  should  by  any  chance  become  real, 
and  it  had  and  yet  he  hesitated  to  tell  her.  It  had  been  so 
easy  to  promise  then,  so  difficult  to  perform.  But  he  wanted 
advice,  he  wanted  help  and  to  whom  could  he  turn  if  not 
to  her? 

There  was  his  father. 

He  looked  down  at  the  kindly  old  face.  But  would  his 
father  understand?  He  doubted  it.  What  patience  would 
Sir  Josiah,  man  of  affairs,  business  man  and  materialist, 
have  with  dreams  and  visions  and  such-like  rubbish?  Yet 
Allan  had  a  boyish,  and  because  it  was  boyish,  an  honest 
longing  to  take  someone  into  his  confidence,  to  unburden  his 
mind,  to  ask  advice,  to  share  his  thoughts  with  some  other 
and  if  not  Kathleen,  who  better,  who  more  natural  than  his 
father  ? 

And  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to  speak,  but  hesitated. 
Twice  he  commenced,  twice  he  branched  off  lamely  into 
something  else. 

"What's  the  matter,  Allan  lad  ?"  Sir  Josiah  asked. 

"Matter,  father?" 

"Aye,  matter,  my  son !  I  know  you  better  than  you  think 
I  do  perhaps.  You've  got  something  worrying  you  and 
that's  a  fact.  Now  what  is  it?  Is  it  Gowerhurst,  has  his 
lordship  been  saying  anything  or — or  wanting  anything, 
hey?" 

"Lord  Gowerhurst  has " 

"Allan,  look  here,"  Josiah  took  his  son's  arm  and  pressed 
it  closejy.  "I  know  his  lordship,  he's  a  gentleman,  a  man  of 
position,  a  man  of  rank  and  title  and  like  that — but  he's 
hard  up  and  when  a  man's  pushed,  well  I  suppose  he  ain't 
too  particular,  can't  afford  to  be;  it  just  crossed  my  mind 


248     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

that  his  lordship  might — I  say  might  have  asked  you,  Allan, 
to  lend  him  a  helping  hand." 

"No,  no!" 

"Well  then  I'm  wrong,  but  it  might  Happen,  and  if  T 
turned  out  to  he  right  I  wouldn't  like  you  to  have  to  say 
no  to  Kathleen's  father,  hoy,  I  wouldn't  like  that — and  it 
might  hurt  her,  our — our  little  girl — eh,  if  she  knew." 

"Our  little  girl,"  what  a  wealth  of  tenderness  and  love 
in  those  three  words!  It  was  never  "her  ladyship"  now,  it 
was  just  that:  "our  little  girl."  Allan  felt  something  sting 
in  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  his  hand  rested  more  heavily  on 
his  father's  shoulder. 

"No,  I  wouldn't  like  to  Jmrt  her  in  any  way,  even  that 
way,  Allan,  so — so  if  his  lordship  should — and  it  seems  to 
me  very  likely  that  his  lordship  may — why  do  you  see, 
Allan,  you  can  draw  on  me.  Of  course  he  won't  never  pay 
back,  that's  not  to  be  looked  for  nor  expected  and  one  thing 
he  wouldn't  expect  to  get  a  wonderful  lot  out  of  you — so  if 
lie  does  ask  you  must  say  Yes — up  to  five  hundred,  Allan, 
and  then  let  me  know  quietly,  and  there  you  are,  there  you 
are,  my  boy!" 

"I  wonder  if  there  is  another  man  in  all  the  world  like 
my  father  ?"  Allan  said. 

"Bless  you,  heaps  and  heaps  and  a  sight  better.  But 
there's  one  thing,  Allan,  there's  never  a  father  in  this  world 
as  knows  and  loves  his  son  as  I  know  and  love  mine  and  so- 
so  boy — out  with  it,  out  with  it  now  and  here." 

They  had  come  to  a  shady  place,  under  the  tall  yews. 
Here  was  an  inviting  seat  and  on  the  seat  Sir  Josiah  settled 
himself  and  drew  Allan  down  beside  him. 

"Out  with  it — with  what,  father?"  Allan  asked  lamely. 

"Why  out  with  what'a  worrying  you,  my  boy;  do  you 
think  I  didn't  see  it,  do  you  think  when  I  saw  you  first 
thing  this  morning  and  took  just  one  look  at  you  I  didn't 
see  it  there — there  in  your  face  and  eyes?  Why  bless  you, 
of  course  I  did;  it  ain't  money,  Allan?" 


THE  RELIGION  OF  SIR  JOSIAH  249 

"No,  no!" 

"I  knew  that,  then  what  is  it  ?  Not — not  trouble,  nothing 
amiss  with — between  you  and  her  ?" 

"No,  thank  God!" 

"Thank  God!"  the  old  man  said.  "And  so — so  it  isn't 
that  and  therefore  it  can't  be  anything  bad — so  I'm  waiting, 
Allan,  waiting,  dear  lad,  tell  me." 

"Father,  if  I  did  you  could  not  understand." 

"I'd  try,  Allan,"  the  old  man  said  simply. 

"Then,  by  Heaven  I  will  tell  you,  father,  and  you  shall 
try  and  understand,  though — though  if  you  do,  you  will 
be  more  clever  than  I,  for  I  cannot  understand."  Allan 
lifted  his  hand  to  his  head  for  a  moment. 

"Do  you  remember  something  that  you  told  me  once 
about — an  ancestor  of  ours — whose  name  was  the  same  as 
mine — a  labourer  here — a  gardener,  who  married  his  mis- 
tress' serving  maid  ?" 

"And  whose  son  went  to  London  and  took  over  the  Green 
Gates  in  Aldgate — why  of  course  I  do !" 

"Well,"  said  Allan  quietly,  "that's  it " 

Sir  Josiah  looked  at  him.  "God  bless  my  soul !"  he  said, 
and  if  ever  there  were  mystification  on  a  man's  face,  it  waa 
on  his. 

"Father,  do  you  believe  that  the  soul  can  outlast  and 
outlive  not  one  earthly  body,  but  many,  ten,  a  hundred,  a 
thousand,  that  when  the  body  perishes  as  all  things  earthly 
must  perish,  the  soul  can  and  does  find  another  dwelling 
place?  Ah!  I  don't  make  myself  clear."  He  broke  off, 
seeing  the  mystification  deepen  in  the  old  man's  face.  "I 
am  afraid  I  never  can.  Think  this  out,  father,  a  man  dies, 
the  body  perishes,  but  the  soul,  the  ego,  the  spirit  lives  on. 
It  finds  another  body,  which  it  animates  for  good  or  for 
evil,  it  completes  another  life,  and  then  all  happens  over 
again.  Each  time  the  body  dies,  the  soul  passes  through 
oblivion  and  returns  to  earth " 


250      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Here,  here,  Allan!"  cried  the  old  man.  "Here,  bless 
my  soul,  didn't  you  ought  to  see  someone  ?" 

Allan  smiled  ruefully. 

"Have  you  never  heard  of  re-incarnation,  the  re-incarna- 
tion of  the  soul,  father  ?" 

"!N~o,  I  can't  say  as  I  ever  have  and  I  don't  know  as  I 
ever  want  to.  I've  only  got  one  life  and  though  I  mayn't 
succeed  in  many  little  things  none  too  well,  I'm  trying  to 
do  the  best  I  can  with  it.  Looking  back — "  the  old  man 
went  on,  "looking  back,  Allan,  I  can  say  and  thank  God  as 
I  can  say  it  that  I  can't  remember  ever  having  done  a  dirty 
act  or  ever  having  played  a  mean  trick  on  a  man  or  a  woman 
in  my  life.  I  accepted  my  body  like  it  was,  a  loan  from 
God ;  I've  used  it  and  kept  it  clean  and  when  the  time  comes 
for  me  to  hand  it  back  to  Him,  why  then  I  want  to  feel  as 
I  can  hand  it  back  in  good  condition  and  good  order — fair 
wear  and  tear  excepted,  Allan,  and  that's  how  I  look  at 
things.  I  don't  pretend  to  know,  there's  some  as  does,  yet 
they  are  only  men,  the  same  as  me  and  you,  dear  lad,  and 
they  don't  know — no  one  knows — and  it's  as  well  for  us, 
maybe,  we  don't!  It's  a  beautiful  world  and  a  wonderful 
world  and  God  lent  it  to  us  the  same  as  He  lent  us  our 
bodies  to  use  properly,  to  admire  and  to  make  the  most  of 
and  enjoy.  Beyond  that,  I  don't  seek  to  know  anything, 
but  when  my  time  comes,  I  want  to  be  able  to  think  to  my- 
self a  prayer,  that  goes  somehow  this  way — 'God,  this  is 
the  body  You  lent  to  me,  I'm  done  with  it  and  now  I'm 
giving  it  back;  I've  tried  to  keep  it  clean  and  honest,  I've 
treated  it  as  if  it  was  something  belonging  to  You  more  than 
to  me — and  that  I  was  in  honour  bound  obliged  to  deal  with 
carefully.  If  there's  a  Heaven  and  You  know  best,  I  hope 
you'll  find  a  place  in  it  for  my  soul,  because  in  keeping  my 
body  clean,  oh » Lord,  I've  kept  my  soul  clean  along  with 
it !'  That's  how  I  look  at  things,  Allan,  I  ain't  good  at  talk 
of  this  sort.  Maybe  you'll  think  I've  got  funny  ideas,  so 
I  have,  but  don't  tell  me  nothing  about  this  re-incarnation 


THE  RELIGION  OF  SIR  JOSIAH  251 

of  yours;  I  don't  hold  with  it,  boy,  I  don't  believe  in^it; 
if  it's  true,  and  it  may  be,  mind  you,  it  may  be,  it  isn't  for 
us  to  know  if  it's  true  or  not.  If  it  was  right,  we  should 
know,  then  God  would  find  some  way  of  telling  us." 

"Perhaps  He  has!"  Allan  thought,  but  he  said  no  more. 
No,  he  could  not  tell  his  father,  for  his  father  would  never 
understand  J 


CHAPTEB  XXXI 

A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN 


>J 


ALLAN'S  conscience  smote  him  sorely.  He  had  mis- 
judged and  dealt  hardly  with  Abram  Lestwick.  He 
had  thought,  had  honestly  believed,  that  the  man  had  in- 
tended drawing  a  knife  on  him  and  in  his  fury  and  anger 
had  punished  his  victim  unmercifully. 

Later,  when  he  had  gone  carefully  over  Lestwick's  cloth- 
ing and  had  found  no  traces  of  weapons  hidden  there,  he  had 
known  his  suspicion  had  been  unjust.  It  weighed  on  his 
mind,  he  went  over  the  incident  again  and  again.  He  won- 
dered if  he  had  seriously  hurt  the  man.  He  felt  anxious 
and  ill  at  ease,  as  must  every  just  man  when  he  is  conscious 
of  an  unintentional  act  of  injustice. 

It  troubled  him  the  more  because  he  knew  that  he  did  not 
like  Lestwick,  that  to  a  certain  extent  he  shared  Betty's 
antipathy  for  the  man. 

Little  Betty  to  spend  all  her  days  with  Abram  Lestwick  I 
That  could  not  and  should  never  be. 

Yet  in  this  Allan  felt  himself  in  the  wrong  and  there 
was  but  one  course  open  to  him.  To  seek  Lestwick  out,  to 
admit  frankly  that  he  had  erred,  to  ask  the  man's  forgive- 
ness and  to  make  amends,  if  amends  were  possible. 

And  yet  Allan  decided  that  in  a  way  the  man  deserved 
all  that  he  had  got,  he  had  pestered  and  worried  Betty,  he 
had  waylaid  her,  to  obtrude  his  hateful  love  on  the  fright- 
ened, shrinking  maid. 

"Hang  him!"  Allan  muttered  between  his  teeth.  "If  he 
ever  does  it  again  I — "  he  clenched  his  hands  and  felt  very 
bitter  for  a  moment  towards  Abram  Lestwick,  then  the  bit- 

252 


"A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN"  253 

terness  was  gone.  He  himself  had  done  wrong,  had  mis- 
judged and  therefore  only  one  course  was  possible  to  Allan 
Homewood. 

Lord  Gowerhurst  having  found  another  bedroom,  where 
he  was  not  likely  to  be  disturbed  by  sounds  of  bird  life, 
had  decided  to  stay  on  for  a  day  or  two.  The  country 
would  do  him  no  harm,  he  would  be  all  the  better  by  the 
change.  His  appetite  was  getting  to  be  really  quite  satis- 
factory, though  even  at  the  very  worst  of  time,  Lord  Gower- 
hurst was  no  mean  performer  with  the  knife  and  fork. 

He  had  also  made  the  discovery  that  Allan's  butler,  the 
staid,  deferential  and  respectable  Mr.  Howard,  had  at  some 
time  in  his  career  been  a  valet  and  could  still  shave  with 
some  dexterity  and  was  moreover  a  very  polite  and  capable 
man,  so  his  lordship  took  possession  of  Howard  and  another 
room  and  declared  his  intention  of  staying  till  Tuesday  or 
Wednesday. 

Sir  Josiah  and  Mr.  Coombe  and  the  rest  were  not  averse 
to  one  day  more  of  holiday.  The  newly  installed  telephone 
enabled  them  to  get  into  touch  with  their  City  offices,  with 
the  result  that  the  little  house  party  would  not  definitely 
break  up  till  Wednesday. 

So  Allan,  with  the  weight  of  his  injustice  to  Abram  Lest- 
wick  on  his  conscience,  set  out  this  Monday  morning  to  do 
penance. 

He  knew  that  Lestwick  was  employed  by  Patcham  at  the 
Moat  Farm.  Betty  had  told  him.  The  Moat  Farm  formed 
part  of  the  Homewood  Estate  and  Patcham  was  his  tenant ; 
what  more  natural  than  he  should  call  on  so  worthy  a  tenant 
and  talk  crops  and  soil  and  manures  and  such  like  with  him  ? 
And  then  how  easily  and  naturally  would  slip  out  a  word 
or  two  about  Abram  Lestwick.  Was  he  a  good  man?  an 
honest  worker?  and  if  he  should  prove  to  be  these  and  de- 
serving, Allan  must  see  what  he  could  do  for  the  man  to 
make  up  for  the  injustice  of  his  treatment  of  him. 

Kathleen  followed  him  out  of  the  breakfast  room  this 


254,      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

morning.  Lord  Gowerhurst  was  not  yet  risen  and  Mr. 
Coombe  had  expanded  under  the  influence  of  His  Lordship's 
absence.  Mr.  Coombe  was  telling  stories  of  high  finance. 
That  his  stories  were  interminably  long  and  without  any 
point  and  of  no  particular  interest,  did  not  matter.  Coombe 
was  a  sound  man,  Sir  Josiah  honoured  him,  Cutler  and  Job- 
son  admired  him.  Sir  Harold  Scarsdale  took  no  notice  of 
him,  so  was  not  bored  by  his  stories.  Scarsdale  was  thinking 
naturally  of  Kathleen.  He  thought  of  little  else,  her  manner 
troubled  him.  He  could  not,  frankly  he  could  not  under- 
stand her.  She  was  smilingly  polite,  courteous  and  consid- 
erate, she  was  friendly  and  sweet  to  him,  and  it  made  him 
realise  that  he  represented  nothing  at  all  to  her.  But  she 
was  playing  a  part,  and  playing  it  well,  he  argued  with  him- 
self. A  woman,  and  a  woman  like  Kathleen,  could  not  ap- 
parently without  effort  or  sense  of  loss  tear  out  an  image 
that  has  been  enshrined  in  her  heart  for  ten  long  years.  It 
puzzled  him,  worried  him,  even  angered  him,  but  he  told 
himself  he  must  be  patient.  His  was  now  the  waiting  game, 
and  he  believed  that  he  had  but  to  wait  long  enough  and  all 
that  he  desired  on  this  earth  would  be  his. 

So  Kathleen  followed  Allan  out  into  the  wide  hall  and 
found  his  cap  and  selected  his  stick  for  him  and  did 
just  those  little  things  that  a  tender,  thoughtful,  loving 
woman  always  does  and  meanwhile  she  looked  at  him  with 
a  strange  wistfulness,  a  curious  pleading  in  her  eyes,  eyes 
that  told  of  a  hunger  and  longing  in  her  soul.  But  he,  man- 
like, was  blind  to  it,  yet  not  insensible  of  her  goodness  and 
her  thought  for  him. 

To-day  she  felt  a  strange  unwillingness  to  let  him  go,  she 
did  what  she  had  never  done  before.  She  slipped  her  hand 
through  his  armband  walked  with  him  down  the  wide  path- 
way to  the  gate,  the  sunshine  in  her  hair  and  on  her  face. 
Sir  Josiah,  bored  by  Coombe's  unending  story,  yet  too  polite 
to  shew  it,  watched  them  from  the  window,  a  smile  on  his 


"A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN"  255 

face.  It  was  good  to  see  them  like  this — such  friends,  such 
comrades ! 

She  wanted  to  tell  him — not  of  Scarsdale,  for  that  had 
sunk  into  insignificance  now — now  that  there  was  something 
so  much  greater,  so  much  more  wonderful  for  him  to  know. 
But  not  yet,  not  yet — not  out  here  in  the  sunshine  with  per- 
haps someone  watching  them  from  the  window.  Presently — 
presently  when  they  should  be  quite  alone ! 

So  at  the  gate  she  paused,  she  looked  at  him. 

"And  once  I  thought  I  loved — Harold!"  she  thought. 
"Once  I  thought  so  and  now  I  know — I  love " 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  go  out  this  morning,  dear  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  you're  going  to  old  Custance  to  talk " 

"No,  I'm  going  to  the  Moat  Farm  to  see  Patcham,  it's 
time  I  called  on  him.  But  if  you  would  rather  I  stayed " 

"No!"  she  said.  "Go!  Good-bye,  Allan!"  she  added 
softly. 

They  would  have  parted  with  a  touch  of  the  hand  as  they 
always  did.  They  kissed  on  rising  and  on  retiring,  but  at 
no  other  time  of  the  day.  Yet  to-day  she  clung  to  his  hand 
for  a  moment,  her  heart  was  filled  with  tenderness  for  him, 
longing  and  a  desire  to  keep  him  that  she  was  too  unselfish 
to  pander  to. 

"Why  dear " 

There  was  something  about  her  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand to-day,  something  in  the  tight  hold  of  her  hand,  in  the 
unwonted  colour  in  her  cheeks,  the  wonderful  brightness 
in  her  eyes. 

"It  is  nothing,  dear,  go — good-bye!"  she  said,  yet  as  she 
spoke  she  lifted  his  hand  and  held  it  against  her  soft  cheek, 
just  for  a  moment  and  then  would  have  turned,  yet  before 
she  did,  he  caught  her  suddenly — why  he  did  not  know — 
it  was  a  moment  of  passion  irresistible,  something  that  came 
so  swiftly  that  he  could  not  question  it,  could  not  understand 
it.  He  caught  her  and  held  her  and  kissed  her  and  then 
quickly  let  her  go  and  without  a  word  went  striding  forth, 


256      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

conscious  of  a  feeling  of  shame,  as  though  he  had  offered  her 
insult. 

And  she  stood  looking  after  him,  her  hands  pressed 
against  her  hreast,  her  eyes  wide.  Not  once  did  he  turn; 
had  he  done  so  perhaps  he  might  have  seen,  might  have 
understood  the  longing  in  her  eyes,  the  hunger  for  the  love 
that  he  never  dreamed  she  needed. 

Allan  walked  on  quickly.  A  woman  in  moments  of  mental 
stress  can  find  relief  in  tears,  a  man  more  usually  in  violent 
movement. 

He  was  a  little  shaken,  a  little  unnerved,  greatly  sur- 
prised at  himself.  Why  had  he  done  that,  why  had  his 
heart  leaped  suddenly  at  the  touch  of  her  soft  cheek  on  his 
hand,  why  had  he — done  what  he  had  done?  Yet,  having 
done  it,  regretted  nothing.  It  seemed  to  him  that  from  that 
moment  Kathleen  held  a  new  interest  for  him.  He  had  re- 
garded her  as  friend  and  companion — from  this  moment  on 
he  knew  that  she  meant  more  than  this  to  him. 

Farmer  John  Patcham  received  him  courteously,  with  a 
deference  and  respect  that  had  nothing  whatever  of  servility 
ahout  it. 

"  'Tis  a  fine  marning,"  he  said,  "and  I  be  just  going  to 
have  my  usual  lunch,  Mr.  Homewood,  a  very  plain  and 
simple  lunch  it  be,  just  a  glass  of  ale  and  a  plum-heavy,  very 
partial  I  be  to  plum-heavies  and  there's  no  one  in  all  Sussex 
makes  'em  better  than  my  wife,  so  if  you'll  join  me " 

Allan  did.  They  sat  in  the  somewhat  stuffy  little  par- 
lour, the  window  of  which  remained  hermetically  sealed, 
summer  and  winter,  and  drank  good  brown  beer  and  ate 
those  Sussex  cakes  that  for  some  reason  have  never  achieved 
the  fame  of  the  cakes  of  Banbury  or  the  Buns  of  Bath. 

And  over  their  cakes  and  ale  they  talked  and  Allan  sur- 
prised the  farmei;  somewhat  by  the  depth  and  advancement  of 
his  knowledge; 

<4You  been  getting  your  head  laid  alongside  old  distance 
now  I'll  be  bound,"  he  said,  "wunnerful  advanced  man  Cus- 


"A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN"  257 

tance  be,  as  sets  great  store  on  book  laming  to  be  sure.  But 
if  so  be  you  be  minded  to  try  hop  raising  in  this  part  of 
Sussex,  Mr.  Homewood,  I  say  give  it  up!  'Tis  the  soil, 
sir,  'tis  the  soil!  Hops  be  all  right  for  Kent  and  the  Mid- 
lands, but — "  and  so  on  and  so  on,  from  hops  to  manures, 
chemical  and  otherwise,  to  tithes  and  land  taxes,  to  red 
cows  and  brindled  cows  and  the  swine  of  Berkshire  and  of 
Yorkshire,  on  all  of  which  subjects  Mr.  Patcham  laid  down 
the  law  and  smote  the  rickety  round  table  with  a  heavy 
hand,  to  drive  his  points  home. 

"Flints,"  said  Patcham,  "flints  be  the  cussedest  things, 
wunnerful  how  flints  du  crop  up.  Clean  a  field,  pick  it, 
hand-pick  it  of  flints,  clear  out  every  flint  there  du  be  and 
in  three  months  what  du  'ee  find?  Flints,  sir,  bushels  of 
'em,  tons  of  'em !  In  some  counties  it  du  be  fuzz  and  Sussex 
has  its  share  of  fuzz,  come  to  that,  but  flints — I  were  but 
saying  to  Abram  last  Saturday — no,  'twere  Friday " 

"Abram — that  is  Abram  Lestwick,  isn't  it  ?"  Allan  asked. 
"He  works  for  you  2" 

"Aye,  Abram  be  my  right  hand  man,  straight  he  be, 
straight  as  an  arrer,  honest  as  the  day  be  Abram,  not  a 
drinking  man,  quiet  and  respectable  like  in  his  manners, 
never  an  angry  word  or  a  cross  look  do  'ee  get  from  Abram 
Lestwick.  Lucky  I  be  to  have  such  a  man  1" 

"Ah!"  Allan  said. 

"No  one  ever  did  see  Abram  lose  his  temper " 

"I  have,"  thought  Allan,  "but  it  was  pardonable." 

"Soft  spoken  and  gentle,  but  a  wunnerful  hand  with  the 
men,  reg'lar  to  Church  and  walking  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord 
du  be  Abram  Lestwick,  and  wi'  sheep  never  a  man  to  com- 
pare wi'  he — whether  it  be  lambing  time  or  shearing,  a  born 
shepherd  be  Abram!" 

"And  a  good  reliable  man  ?" 

"There  ain't  one  to  come  nigh  nor  near  to  him,"  said 
Farmer  Patcham,  "a  good  wage  du  I  pay  he  and  worth  it 
every  penny  he  be — thirty-five  shillings  and  a  cottage  to 


258     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

hisself,  no  less.  And  what  the  maids  be  about,  beats  I  and 
the  Missus  too,  a  hard  man  to  fault,"  went  on  Patcham,  "a 
very  hard  man  to  fault,  sir,  and  you'll  believe  me.  My 
Missus  and  the  maids  here  du  complain  a  bit  about  they 
hands  of  his,  restless  hands  as  you  may  have  noticed,  sir, 
but  what's  that,  all  said  and  done  ?  And  now,  maybe,  you'll 
take  a  look  round  the  farm  ?" 

Allan  took  a  look  round  the  farm  and  saw  a  back  view 
of  Abram  in  the  rick  yard,  but  Abram  never  turned  and 
apparently  did  not  notice  the  visitor. 

"A  good  man,"  Patcham  said,  "a  reliable,  trustworthy, 
honest,  sober  man,  likely  to  make  his  way  in  the  world.  No 
frequenter  of  the  ale-house  and  a  regular  churchgoer,  a  man 
with  rare  and  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  soil  and  of  sheep. 
Hi,  Abram,  Abram,  my  lad,  come  'ee  here!  Here  be  Mr. 
Homewood  a-hearing  all  about  'ee  from  me!" 

Very  slowly  Abram  turned  his  discoloured  face,  his 
attitude  was  of  intense  humility,  he  seemed  to  cower,  his 
furtive  hands  wandered  up  and  down  the  edge  of  his  waist- 
coat, yet  never  once  did  he  look  into  Allan's  face. 

"Why,  Abram  lad,  'ee've  been  in  the  wars,  surely !"  cried 
Paicham.  "What  hev  come  to  your  face,  lad  ?" 

"An  accident,"  Abram  mumbled,  "a  blundering  fellow,  I 
be  in  the  dark,  Mister  Patcham!" 

Patcham  smiled.  "Had  it  been  any  other  than  'ee,  Abram, 
I  would  say  it  were  through  fighting." 

Allan  looked  at  his  victim,  he  felt  a  strange  pity,  mingled 
with  an  invincible  repugnance.  The  man  looked  so  inof- 
fensive, so  humble,  even  servile  and  yet — Allan's  attention 
was  directed  to  those  strangely  restless  hands ;  he  found  that 
they  attracted  and  held  his  eyes.  He  remembered  how  Betty 
had  cried  out  in  fear  and  horror  of  those  same  hands.  Poor 
little  Betty,  never,  never,  Allan  resolved,  should  those  hands 
touch  the  child,  if  he  could  prevent  it ! 

"I  would  like  to  speak  to  Lestwick,  Mr.  Patcham,"  he 
said,  "if  I  have  your  permission  ?" 


"A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN"  259 

"Oh,  aye,  of  course,  why  not  ?"  said  the  fanner,  looking  a 
little  surprised.  "Do  'ee  mean  alone,  sir  ?" 

"Yes,  alone!" 

Patcham  eyed  Allan  a  little  resentfully,  a  little  suspi- 
ciously. "I  hope,"  he  began,  "I  hope,  Mr.  Homewood,  as 
Wve  got  no  idea  o'  trying  to  get  Abram  away  from  me? 
I've  spoke  out  for  he  and  spoken  as  I  did  find,  but " 

Allan  smiled.  "Have  no  fear,  I  want  to  speak  to  Lestwick 
on  an  entirely  different  matter." 

Patcham's  face  cleared  as  he  walked  away.  "Now  I  du 
wonder  what  he  can  have  to  say  to  Abram  ?"  he  thought. 

And  now  the  two  were  left  together  and  Allan,  looking 
at  the  abject,  servile  creature  before  him,  felt  suddenly 
tongue-tied.  He  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  hot  shame. 
Those  unsightly  marks,  those  livid  bruises  were  his  work, 
the  work  of  his  fists.  How  desperately  he  must  have  pun- 
ished the  man  in  his  rage. 

"Lestwick — I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  an  apology 
to  make,  I  wish  to  ask  your  pardon." 

The  wandering  eyes  were  lifted  for  a  moment  to  Allan's 
face,  then  dropped  again,  the  hands  were  at  their  nervous 
work. 

"I  misjudged  you  and  in  my  anger  treated  you  roughly, 
for  which  I  am  deeply  sorry,"  said  Allan,  eager  to  make  his 
amends  and  be  done  with  it,  for  he  could  not  but  be  conscious 
of  his  great  and  growing  repugnance  and  repulsion  for  the 
man. 

He  waited,  but  Abram  said  nothing,  he  stood  there  mute, 
his  eyes  seeming  to  search  the  ground  about  him. 

"You  misled  me — when  we — when  you  and  I — on  Satur- 
day night,  when  we  fought,  I  mean — I  say  you  misled  me, 
I  thought  you  had  a  knife  and  thinking  so  I  struck  you 
hardly.  I  am  sorry  for  it,  I  made  a  mistake  and  I  wish 
to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  what  I  did." 

And  still  the  man  did  not  answer ;  why  did  he  not  speak  ? 
What  was  he  waiting  for,  was  it ? 


260      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

A  smile  came  into  Allan's  face,  it  was  a  smile  of  con- 
tempt. He  might  have  guessed  it,  there  was  only  one  plaster 
for  such  a  wound  as  Abram's.  He  took  out  his  pocketbook 
and  from  it  a  five  pound  note. 

"I  hope  you  will  accept  this,"  he  said,  "and  with  it  my 
apology." 

Abram  looked  up,  his  eyes  wandered  from  Allan's  face  to 
the  outstretched  hand  that  held  the  note.  He  seemed  to 
hesitate,  a  convulsion  passed  across  his  features,  then  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  suddenly  and  took  the  note.  He  did 
not  snatch  it,  for  Abram  was  ever  a  polite  man,  he  took  it 
gently  and  looked  at  it  and  then — then  he  tore  it  slowly 
across  and  across  and  yet  again,  tore  it  into  small  strips 
that  he  flung  to  the  ground  and  stamped  into  the  soft  earth 
with  his  foot 

"I  thank  'ee,  Mr.  Homewood,"  he  said  in  his  low,  passion- 
less voice,  "I  du  thank  'ee  most  politely,  I  du,  sir,  for  your 
good  intentions  toward  I — I  thank  'ee,  sir,  most  politely!" 
And  then  he  turned  away  and  went  slowly  to  his  work  in  the 
rick  yard. 

Allan  stood  lost  in  wonder,  he  watched  the  man  go,  he 
glanced  down  at  the  ragged  scraps  of  what  had  once  been 
a  valuable  piece  of  paper,  trodden  into  the  earth. 

So  be  it !  He  had  done  all  that  he  could  do,  the  man  had 
apparently  refused  to  accept  his  apology.  Sudden  anger 
came  to  him. 

"Lestwick !"  he  called  sharply.    "Lestwick !" 

Lestwick  stopped,  but  did  not  turn. 

"I  have  this  to  say  to  you,  my  man,"  Allan  said  hotly, 
"I  injured  you,  under  a  wrong  impression,  for  which  I  have 
expressed  regret,  but  I  believe,  on  my  soul,  that  you  really 
deserved  all  ypu  got.  You  have  annoyed  and  terrorised  a 
girl  who  has  no  feeling  save  of  fear  and  dislike  of  you.  In 
future  you  will  leave  her  alone;  if  I  find  you  hanging  about 
my  house,  waiting  to  waylay  Betty  Hanson,  then  I'll  deal 


"A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN"  261 

with  you  again,  as  I  dealt  with  you  on  Saturday  night. 
Remember  that,  my  man,  it's  no  idle  threat !" 

Lestwick  made  no  answer,  he  did  not  turn,  he  stood  still, 
as  though  waiting  patiently  for  Allan  to  complete  his  re- 
marks, and  then  when  silence  fell,  Lestwick  went  slowly 
on  his  way. 

Allan  made  his  way  homeward,  with  a  feeling  of  anger 
in  his  breast.  He  had  done  all  that  a  man  might  do,  and 
he  had  been  repulsed.  No  wonder  that  Betty,  poor  little 
Betty,  felt  horror  and  loathing  for  the  man. 

"Is  he  sane,  is  he  normal?"  Allan  questioned  himself. 
"There  is  something — about  him — "  he  shuddered.  "I  can't 
undertand  it,  I  never  loathed  a  human  being  in  my  life,  as 
I  loathe  that  man,  but  Betty " 

What  could  he  do  about  Betty,  how  unravel  the  tangle, 
how  straighten  out  that  very  winding  path  of  the  child's 
life?  She  loved  him,  had  she  not  said  it  a  hundred  times 
with  tears  and  with  pleading?  Yet  was  it  the  real  love? 
The  one  passion  of  a  life-time?  He  doubted  it,  for  Allan 
Hbmewood  held  himself  in  no  high  esteem  and  could  not 
think  of  himself  as  one  for  whom  any  woman  would  care 
deeply.  No,  it  could  not  be  that,  it  must  be  the  strange  tie 
that  united  them,  that  lifting  of  the  curtain  that  had  revealed 
to  them  both  a  glimpse  into  some  strange  past  that  was  not 
of  this  life. 

What  did  she  want  of  him?  What  did  she  expect,  ask 
of  him?  But  whatever  it  was,  how  impossible  it  all  was! 

To-day  he  had  kissed  Kathleen,  his  wife,  as  never  before 
had  he  kissed  her  and  remembering  this,  a  softer,  more 
tender  look  came  into  his  face. 

What  was  Kathleen  thinking  now?  Had  he  surprised, 
even  frightened  her,  was  she  hurt  or  angry,  or  could  she 
understand  and  forgive  that  sudden  wave  of  passion  that 
had  come  to  him  ?  Love  and  passion  for  her — his  own  wife  I 
His  cheeks  flushed  a  little,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  his  little 
world  was  in  strange  and  dire  confusion. 


262      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

Mrs.  Hanson,  standing  at  her  own  gate,  tall,  erect,  and 
brown  of  face,  beady  of  eyes,  bobbed  to  him  an  exaggerated 
respectful  curtsey. 

Allan  lifted  his  hat  to  her. 

"Good  morning!" 

"And  good  morning  to  'ee,  sir,"  she  said  and  treated  him 
to  another  curtsey. 

"I  hope  my  maid  du  be  conducting  herself  in  a  seemly 
manner  and  giving  satisfaction  to  my  lady,  sir?" 

"Yes!"  Allan  said;  he  felt  confused  before  those  keen 
bright  eyes. 

"A  strange,  wilful  maid  her  be  in  many  ways,  sir,  yet  her 
heart  be  so  good  as  gold." 

"She  18  wonderfully  pretty,  your  granddaughter,  Mrs. 
Hanson !" 

"Beauty  be  but  a  snare  and  likewise  is  but  skin  deep.  I 
set  no  stores  by  such,  'tis  the  heart  as  tells,  sir." 

"But  her  heart  is  good,  I  am  sure."  He  was  talking  for 
the  mere  sake  of  talking,  for  an  idea  had  come  into  his  brain, 
a  little  dim  and  vague  as  yet,  but  yet  an  idea  that  possibly 
might  mean  a  way  to  safety  for  them  all. 

"Good-hearted  her  may  be,  but  most  terribul  obstinate 
and  stubborn,  a  perilous  obstinate  maid,  terribul  contrairy 
and  self  willed  her  du  be  in  many  ways " 

"In — in  what  ways  ?" 

"In  marrying,"  said  Mrs.  Hanson,  "I  hev  chose  for  she 
a  good  honest  man  as  du  walk  upright  in  the  sight  of  the 
Lord,  a  man  as  du  keep  hisself  to  hisself  and  du  keep  holy 
the  Sabbath  day,  reading  in  the  Bible  and  not  with  an  eye 
to  every  maid,  though  there  be  many  wishful  of  attracting 
his  attention.  Wonderful  partial  he  be  to  my  Betty  tu, 
wonderful  partial  and  keen  and  eager  for  she." 

"And  the  man?" 

"There  hain't  a  better  in  all  Sussex  and  yet  that  perilous 
obstinate  maid  will  hev  none  of  he!" 

"Because  she  may  dislike  the  man !" 


"A  VERY  WORTHY  MAN"  263 

"Dis-like,  what  bev  that  to  do  with  it,  sir?  Why  should 
Betty  dis-like  Abram  Lestwick — a  man  earning  his  thirty- 
five  shillings  a  week  and  with  a  cottage  to  himself  and  all 
keen  set  as  he  be ?" 

"I  have  seen  the  man  and  can  understand  her  dislike  for 
him.  He  lays  in  wait  for  her,  outside  the  gates;  she  is 
afraid  to  venture  out  of  nights  because  of  this  man,  whom  she 
fears  and  hates.  And  you,  can  you  not  understand  the 
child's  aversion  for  such  a  man  as  Lestwick,  Mrs.  Hanson  ?" 

"That  I  cannot  and  will  not!  A  proper  man  be  Abram 
and  rare  grateful  and  glad  any  maid  should  be  attracting  the 
like  of  he!" 

"Betty  is  neither  glad  nor  grateful,  she  goes  in  fear  of 
him,  hates  him  and  is  terrified  by  the  very  thought  of  him — 
it  would  be  death — do  you  understand,  death  to  the  girl  to 
force  her  into  a  marriage  so  shocking!  Why  are  you  so 
keen  for  it?  Why  do  you  seek  to  drive  her  against  her 
own  natural  ^inclinations,  why — why?"  Allan  cried  hotly. 

She  eyed  him  with  cold  disfavour.  What  business  was  all 
this  of  his,  of  young  Mr.  Homewood  of  Homewood  Manor 
House  ?  She  would  have  looked  on  him  with  some  suspicion, 
yet  there  was  something  so  open  in  his  face,  his  anger  was  so 
honest,  that  she  could  not,  even  if  she  would,  suspect  him 
of  an  interest  in  pretty  Betty,  that  reflected  no  credit  on  him. 

"Abram  hev  thirty-five  shillings  a  week  and " 

"And  for  thirty-five  shillings  a  week  you  would  force  this 
child  to  marry  a  man  she  hates,  you  would  wreck  and  ruin 
her  life,  you  would  drive  her  perhaps — God  knows — to  death 
— to  suicide!  Can't  you  understand  that  it  is  not  mere 
dislike  she  feels  for  him,  it  is  hate  and  terror!  Thirty-five 
shillings  a  week !"  He  laughed  aloud  in  scorn,  he  flung  his 
head  back,  his  face  was  flushed,  his  eyes  bright,  and  Mrs. 
Hanson  stared  at  him  in  wonderment  and  with  something 
of  anger  too. 

"Listen  to  me,"  Allan  said  and  his  voice  was  more  gentle 
and  quiet,  he  looked  into  the  keen,  hard,  old  face.  "Listen 


264      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

to  me,  Mrs.  Hanson,  you  are  Betty's  grandmother.  I  believe 
you  are  her  only  living  relative.  If  you  think  so  highly  of 
thirty-five  shillings  a  week  and  of  a  cottage — I  will  make 
you  an  offer — "  He  paused,  "I  will  undertake  to  pay  to  you 
as  Betty's  guardian,  a  sum  that  will  equal  the  amount  of 
Abram  Lestwick's  wages.  I  will  find  a  cottage  for  you — 
not  here — not  near  here  even — and  you  shall  have  it  rent 
free,  so  that  Betty  may  live  with  you  and  that  you  shall 
not  torment  her  further  about  this  man  Lestwick.  Do  you 
understand  ?  I  will  give  to  you  and  to  Betty  all  that  Abram 
Lestwick  could  give,  the  money  and  the  cottage!  And  you 
and  the  girl  shall  go  away  from  here — away  for  good.  She 
is  young  and  she  is  beautiful,  she  will  surely  find  many 
eager  to  marry  her,  and  she  shall  choose  and  pick  among  them 
for  herself.  Do  you  understand,  do  I  make  myself  plain  3" 

"Plain — aye,  plain!"  she  said;  under  the  black  bodice 
the  thin  old  breast  rose  and  fell,  she  gripped  the  rails  of 
the  gate  and  stared  into  hia  face. 

"And  why — why  are  'ee  willing  to  do  this,  give  this  to 
Betty  Hanson,  Mr.  Homewood  2" 

"To  save  her  from  marriage  with  a  man  I  dislike  and  dis- 
trust, as  much  as  she  does — for  that  reason  and  that  reason 
alone!" 

"  'Ee  be  mighty  generous,  Mr.  Homewood !"  Her  hard 
voice  quivered  with  suspicion,  and  yet — yet  she  looked  him 
full  in  the  eyes  and  he  looked  back  at  her  and  there  was  no 
shame,  no  confusion,  nothing  of  the  look  of  one  who  has 
something  on  his  conscience. 

"I — I  do  not  understand — "  she  said  slowly,  "I  do  not 
understand !" 

"No,  I  do  not  suppose  you  do  understand.  Shall  we  leave 
it  at  that  2  My  offer  holds  good,  accept  it  and  make  a  happy 
home  for  the  child — but  not  hera" 

"  'Ee  du  seem  mighty  set  on  it  not  being  here !"  she  said 
thoughtfully.  "Mighty  set  'ee  du  be.  Does  the  maid  know 
your  intentions  to  she,  sir  2" 


"A  VERY  WORTHY;  MAN"       205 

tcNo,  I  had  no  such  intentions  just  now,  the  thought  has 
only  just  come  into  my  mind." 

She  nodded  slowly.  He  had  said  that  she  could  not 
understand  and  he  was  right.  Whoever  heard  the  like  he- 
fore?  Thirty-five  shillings  a  week  and  a  cottage  and  all — 
all  for  nothing !  Whoever  heard  the  like  before  ?  Certainly 
not  Mrs.  Hanson. 

"All  bewildered  I  be,"  she  said  and  said  it  aloud,  though 
it  was  not  intended  for  his  ears.  "All  bewildered  and  won- 
der struck  I  du  be!" 

"Do  you  agree,  answer  me,  do  you  agree  to  this?  Tell 
me,  Mrs.  Hanson?" 

"But  the  maid — you  du  say,  sir,  she  hev  not  heard  ?" 

"She  has  not  heard,  but  if  you  agree,  you  can  tell  her 
yourself,  tell  her  this  evening  and  then  you  shall  give  me  her 
and  your  answer." 

"If  the  maid  is  willing,"  she  said  slowly,  "though  all  the 
same  I  be  partial  to  Abram." 

"Her  terror  of  him  should  have  some  weight  with  you. 
Take  her  away  from  this  place  to  where  she  will  never  see 
him  again,  you  will  ?" 

She  looked  at  him.  "Send  the  maid  to  me  to-night  and 
I  will  talk  of  it  wi'  she." 

She  stood  at  the  gate,  staring  down  the  road  after  him. 

"Thirty-five  shillings  a  week  and  a  cottage — far  away 
from  here  for  Betty  and  for  me  and  for  nothing,  for  nothing ! 
.Very  bewildered  and  wonderstruck  I  be!" 

And  Allan,  hurrying  homeward,  was  thinking — if  this 
might  be  the  solution,  how  easy  it  was  after  all,  freedom  for 
Betty  from  Abram  Lestwick — a  new  life  for  the  little  maid 
among  new  faces — where  soon — soon  she  would  forget  her 
dreams  in  the  old  garden  and  him. 

And  then,  when  all  was  done  and  Betty  and  her  grand- 
mother gone  for  good,  he  would  tell  Kathleen ;  it  would  be 
easy  to  tell  her  then  and  Kathleen  would  understand. 


CHAPTER 

THE  AWAKENING 

BRIGHT  eyes,  the  brightest  he  believed  he  had  ever 
seen,  greeted  Allan.  Eyes  so  kind,  so  bright  and  so 
tender  that  he  knew  before  ever  a  word  had  been  spoken  that 
he  had  not  offended,  that  Kathleen  was  not  angry  with  him, 
not  hurt. 

He  felt  a  great  wave  of  relief  and  then  the  feeling  passed 
and  gave  place  to  wonder,  because  in  some  subtle  way  Kath- 
leen had  changed.  To  others  she  was  still  the  Kathleen  he 
knew  and  loved  and  respected,  but  to  him  she  had  become 
another  being,  her  eyes  were  misty  and  soft  and  tender,  for 
him,  there  was  a  rich,  rare  colour  in  her  cheeks.  He  felt 
his  own  heart  respond.  As  they  were  passing  into  lunch 
he  touched  her  hand — why? 

There  was  no  reason  for  it,  it  was  just  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  yet  he  felt  that  he  must  do  it,  so  he  did  and  she 
turned  and  looked  at  him  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
colour  deepened  in  her  cheeks  and  the  look  in  her  eyes  was 
more  tender  than  ever. 

And  the  touch  of  that  little  hand  of  hers  made  his  heart 
leap.  This  was  no  mere  friendship,  this  was  no  mere  liking, 
no  symptom  of  respect.  He  wondered  at  himself,  wondered 
at  its  meaning  and  as  a  result  he  failed  to  hear  Lord  Gower- 
hurst,  who  was  addressing  himself  particularly  to  Allan. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Lord  Gowerhurst,  departing  on  the 
morrow,  found  himself  woefully  short  of  money.  He  was 
not  in  the  cue*  to  approach  Sir  Josiah  and  a  timely  loan  of 
a  comparatively  small  sum  from  Allan,  a  mere  fifty  or  .even 
twenty-five,  would  be  agreeable  to  his  lordship.  Later  on 

266 


THE  AWAKENING  267 

Sir  Josiah's  money  bags  must  be  properly  besieged,  with 
all  due  form  and  with  a  regard  to  detail  for  which  there  was 
no  time  at  the  moment. 

"If,  therefore,  you  could  give  me  ah — ten  minutes — some 
time  most  convenient  to  yourself,  my  dear  Allan — "  said 
his  lordship  with  unwonted  humility. 

"Of  course,  delighted  1"  Allan  murmured,  and  was  think- 
ing of  Kathleen  all  the  time. 

Had  he  ever  appreciated  her  properly?  Had  he  ever 
realised  the  exquisite  beauty  of  her  face,  a  beauty  that  was 
spiritual,  was  of  expression  rather  than  of  mere  form  and 
mould  of  feature.  How  sweetly  gracious  she  was,  how 
charming,  not  even  the  loquacious  and  boresome  Coombe 
aroused  irritability  in  her — how  his  old  father  worshipped 
her — what  a  strange,  yet  perfect  understanding  there  seemed 
to  be  between  them,  the  old  City  man  of  business,  of  plebeian 
origin  and  this  young  and  gracious  well  born  lady.  Yet 
they  were  so  obviously  and  so  certainly  friends,  good,  close, 
true  friends,  with  a  mutual  understanding  and  a  mutual  love 
for  one  another. 

So  Allan  did  not  make  the  most  agreeable  of  companions 
at  that  meal  and  his  lordship  felt  uneasy. 

"I  wonder  if  the  fellow  suspects  I'm  going  to  ask  a  small 
loan,  a  mere  trifle  till  I  get  back  to  town?  Confound  it, 
it's  deuced  unpleasant  for  a  man  in  my  position  to — er — 
place  himself  under  an  obligation  to  a  mere  stripling  like 
this  I  I  can't  ask  Scarsdale,  there's  something  deuced  stand- 
offish about  the  fellow ;  I  almost  wish  I  hadn't  taken  Scars- 
dale  up  again,  I've  got  an  idea  that  Scarsdale  lets  bygones 
rankle.  By  George,  though,  I  did  give  him  a  dressing  down 
in  those  days,  and  by  George  he  deserved  it — asked  for  it — 
begad,  and  got  it  tool" 

Just  for  a  moment  Allan  had  an  opportunity  for  a  word 
with  Kathleen  when  lunch  was  over. 

"You — you  are  not  angry  with  me  I1' 

"Angry?" 


Was  she  a  woman  of  twenty-nine  almost,  or  only  a  maiden 
of  nineteen  that  suddenly  her  eyes  dropped  before  his,  that 
suddenly  a  deep  rich  colour  came  flaming  her  facet 

"Kathleen — Kathleen!"  He  caught  her  hand,  he  was 
suddenly  in  a  strange  tremble,  and  then  in  on  them  burst 
Mr.  Coombe. 

"Wistaria,  not  westeria,  Jobson,  my  boy,  if  you'd  done 
the  gardening  I've  done  at  Tulse  Hill — I — I  beg  pardon  1" 
stammered  Mr.  Coombe,  taken  aback. 

Kathleen  smiled.  "You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Coombe,  it  is 
wistaria!"  she  said. 

"I've  got  one  over  my  house  at  Tulse  Hill,"  said  Mr. 
Coombe,  "with  a  stem,  if  you'll  believe  me,  as  thick  as  my 
body !"  Which  was  an  exaggeration,  as  Mr.  Coombe's  body 
was  of  no  ordinary  thickness. 

Allan  turned  away. 

"Oh,  I  forgot — "  he  said,  and  his  eyes  and  Kathleen's 
met.  "I  saw  Mrs.  Hanson  at  her  gate  as  I  passed  and  she 
says  if  you  can  spare  her  granddaughter  this  evening,  Kath- 
leen, she  would  be  glad." 

"I  will  send  Betty,"  Kathleen  said,  "though  the  old  woman 
was  not  very  kind  to  her,  still  she  is  old  and  alone.  Yes,  I 
will  see  that  Betty  goes !" 

His  lordship  secured  his  quiet  ten  minutes  with  Allan. 

"Most  foolish  .and  stupid  of  me,  forgot  to  bring  my  cheque 
book,  I  can't  think  what  possessed  me — I  assure  you,  Allan, 
I  was  astounded  at  my  oversight.  Of  course  one  can  draw 
a  cheque  on  a  sheet  of  note  paper,  but  my  Bank  don't  like 
it — no,  they  don't  like  it,  sir — and  so— so " 

"I  shall  be  only  too  pleased  to  be  of  service  to  you,"  said 
Allan  promptly,  so  promptly  that  his  lordship  was  a  little 
taken  aback. 

Yet  Allan  seemed  so  ready,  so  willing — it  would  be  a 
shameful  waste  of  opportunity  to  make  the  amount  so  small 
as  he  had  originally  intended. 


THE  AWAKENING  269 

"if — if — er — a  couple  of  hundred  wouldn't  put  you  to 
inconvenience " 

"With  pleasure,"  Allan  said.  "I'll  send  Howard  over  to 
Stretton  in  the  car,  he'll  be  able  to  get  to  the  Bank  just  in 
time." 

Never  in  the  whole  course  of  his  experience,  and  it  had 
been  large,  had  his  lordship  had  such  a  request  granted  with 
such  alacrity  and  willingness. 

"My  dear  Allan,  'pon  my  soul  now,  'pon  my  soul,  it  is 
very  good  of  you — I  take  a  pleasure,  sir,  a  pleasure  in  being 
under  an  obligation  to  you,  even  though  it  is  only  a  tem- 
porary one.  You're  a  good  fellow,  Allan,  a  deuced  generous, 
open-handed  good  fellow  and — and  I  honour  you,  sir,  and 
your  father  too,  and  it's  a  pleasure  and  a  relief  to  me,  be 
Gad,  to  think  that  my  girl  has  entered  your  family — a  family 
of — of  gentlemen,  be  gad !" 

"Poor  old  chap!"  Allan  thought.  "It  must  be  hard  for 
a  man  in  his  position  and  of  his  rank  to  have  to  lower  him- 
self and  demean  himself  to  borrow  money — "  He  sighed, 
and  then  smiled  in  wonder  at  himself  that  he  should  feel  so 
kindly  towards  Lord  Gowerhurst,  for  whom  he  had  previously 
felt  nothing  but  aversion  and  contempt. 

But  then  Lord  Gowerhurst  was  Kathleen's  father  and  for 
some  reason  to-day  that  made  just  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  to  Allan.  So,  having  lent  Lord  Gowerhurst  two  hun- 
dred pounds,  Allan  resolved  that  he  would  say  nothing  to 
his  own  father  about  it. 

Custance  claimed  Allan  that  afternoon  and  when  Custance 
had  done  with  him  there  was  barely  time  to  reach  home  and 
dress  for  dinner,  so  he  did  not  see  Kathleen  till  they  met  at 
the  dinner  table.  And  to-night  she  was  looking  her  loveliest 
and  her  best.  Even  Coombe  remarked  her  heightened  colour 
and  tried  to  pay  her  a  clumsy  compliment  on  her  looks  and 
meeting  Lord  Gowerhurst's  cold  stare  when  half  way  through 
his  speech,  faltered  and  broke  down  and  burst  into  profuse 
perspiration. 


270      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

But  Kathleen  smiled  on  him  and  thanked  him  and  told  him 
in  a  little  confidential  whisper,  that  highly  pleased  Coombe, 
that  she  was  getting  to  be  an  old,  old  woman.  In  less  than 
eighteen  months  she  would  be  thirty  years  of  age,  and  though 
she  had  not  found  a  grey  hair  as  yet,  no  doubt  she  soon 
would. 

"Old,  my  dear — "  said  Mr.  Coombe,  and  then  blushed 
crimson,  "I  beg  your  pardon " 

"You  have  nothing  to  beg  my  pardon  for — Sir  Josiah's 
friends  are  mine — and  if  one  of  them  is  kind  enough  to  call 
me  my  dear,  it  only  proves  that  he  likes  me  and  I  like  to  be 
liked,  Mr.  Coombe,  by  my  friends!" 

"And  so  you  are,  so  you  are,  and  as  for  getting  old,  never, 
you'll  never  be  old,  you'll  be  young  to  the  last  day  of  your 
life,  if  you  live  to  be  eighty,  and  please  God  you  will !"  And 
Mr.  Coombe  turned  deliberately  and  stared  Lord  Gower- 
hurst  full  in  the  face  with  an  expression  that  said  as  plain 
as  words — "If  you  don't  like  the  way  I  am  behaving  and 
if  you  don't  like  my  paying  compliments  to  your  daughter — 
then  you  can  go  to  the  deuce  and  go  as  soon  as  you  like,  my 
Lord,  and  be  hanged  to  you !" 

Among  that  company  of  gentlemen  Harold  Scarsdale  was 
inconspicuous.  That  he  was  better  bred  than  Mr.  Coombe 
and  Mr.  Jobson  was  obvious,  that  he  could  talk  a  good  deal 
better  than  any  of  them  Allan  at  least  knew,  but  it  pleased 
Scarsdale  to  hold  his  tongue  and  keep  himself  much  in  the 
background.  From  that  background  he  watched  Kathleen 
and  the  more  he  watched  the  less  did  he  seem  to  understand 
her. 

He  remembered  the  passion  of  the  old  days,  he  remem- 
bered that  scene  by  the  lake  only  two  short  days  ago,  how 
during  those  two  days  had  she  changed.  She  greeted  him 
with  a  friendly *smile,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  she 
wished  him  good  morning  and  good  night  and  talked  to  him  of 
trivial,  every  day  things,  listening  with  interest  to  the  few 
remarks  he  made  and  that  was  all. 


THE  AWAKENING  271 

But  she  was  a  woman  and  he  knew  little  of  women,  but 
had  read  much  and  so  had  obtained  a  false  impression.  She 
was  clever,  she  was  hiding  her  feelings  and  doing  it  suc- 
cessfully. When  the  time  came,  and  it  would  come,  then 
she  would  .fling  all  pretence  to  the  winds,  she  would  be  his, 
he  would  open  his  arms  to  her,  the  ten  years  of  hunger  would 
be  ended. 

To-night  he  sat  in  his  corner  and  listened  to  everyone  and 
said  little,  but  he  was  watchful  and  presently  he  saw  Allan 
go  out  and,  waiting  for  a  time,  Scarsdale  too  rose  and 
sauntered  to  the  window  and  stepped  out  into  the  garden. 

Allan,  however,  had  not  gone  to  the  garden.  He  re- 
membered that  Betty  was  going  to  her  grandmother's  to- 
night. 

She  would  be  sure  to  leave  the  old  woman's  cottage  by 
nine.  He  counted  on  that.  He  wanted  to  see  her,  he  wanted 
to  see  how  she  had  taken  what  her  grandmother  would  say 
to  her,  he  wanted  to  know  that  Betty  would  realise  how  sen- 
sible the  arrangement  was  and  how  it  would  be  for  her  own 
good  and  happiness  in  the  long  run.  She  was  young,  a  mere 
child,  in  some  far  away  little  village  she  would  begin  a  new 
life,  unmolested  by  Abram  Lestwick,  the  terror  of  his  pres- 
ence and  his  pretensions  removed  for  ever  from  her  mind. 
And  far  away  amid  new  surroundings,  she  would  surely  for- 
get in  time — perhaps  not  at  once — yet  in  time,  all  those 
strange  happenings  and  that  strange  tie  that  had  drawn 
Betty  and  himself  so  closely  together. 

Allan  was  not  vain,  he  did  not  for  one  moment  believe 
that  it  was  his  own  personality  that  had  attracted  Betty,  or 
that  he  himself — the  man  he  was  now,  had  ever  awakened 
any  feelings  of  tenderness  and  love  in  that  little  heart. 

It  was  the  glamour,  the  strange  mystery,  the  unsolvable 
mystery,  those  visions  that  she — and  he  too — had  seen,  that 
dimly  uncertain  memory  of  'something'  that  had  been,  in 
the  buried  and  unknown  past ;  it  was  that  that  had  appealed 
to  her  as  of  course  it  had  appealed  to  him. 


1272      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

So  Allan  lighted  his  pipe  and  strolled  away  down  the 
dusky  road  and  strangely  enough  had  not  gone  ten  paces 
before  he  was  thinking  of  Kathleen,  rather  than  of  her  he 

had  come  to  meet. 

******* 

Mrs.  Hanson  sat  upright  on  her  stiff  old  chair,  her  hands 
were  folded  primly  on  her  narrow  lap,  her  eyes  were  fixed 
in  an  unwavering  stare  on  the  closed  door. 

She  was  expecting  Betty,  she  had  been  expecting  the  girl 
for  the  past  hour.  For  an  hour  Mrs.  Hanson  had  sat  there 
listening  for  coming  footsteps  but  hearing  only  the  steady 
persistent  'tick-tock'  of  the  long  cased  clock. 

During  that  hour  Mrs.  Hanson  had  been  thinking,  she 
had  been  asking  of  herself  questions,  and  as  the  minutes 
passed  the  stern  old  face  grew  graver  and  grimmer. 

"Why  should  he  be  willing  to  give  to  Betty  and  herself 
such  a  mort  of  money.  Why  should  he  be  wishful  of  send- 
ing Betty  to  some  far  off  place.  Why  should  Mr.  Allan 
Homewood  interest  himself  in  the  very  least  with  the  future 
of  Betty  Hanson  at  all  ? 

Questions  that  Mrs.  Hanson  could  not  answer  satisfac- 
torily. 

"A  very  pleasant  and  outspoken  young  gentleman  he  du 

seem — and  yet "  Mrs.  Hanson  shook  her  head.  "And 

yet " 

But  the  long  expected  footsteps  were  sounding,  there  came 
a  tapping  on  the  door.  That  in  itself  was  unfamiliar.  In 
the  old  days  Betty  lifted  the  latch  and  came  in. 

Betty  came  to-night  as  a  visitor,  and  Mrs.  Hanson  realised 
the  difference. 

"Come  in,"  she  said,  and  rose  stiffly  to  receive  her  visitor. 

Betty  came  in  nervously ;  she  looked  at  her  grandmother, 
hesitated  and  then  came  forward  and  offered  a  soft  cheek. 

"You  will  hev  had  your  tea  ?" 

"Yes  grandmother." 


THE  AWAKENING  273 

"Will  you  be  seated?" 

Betty  sat  down,  her  nervousness  increasing. 

Mrs.  Hanson  stared  at  the  childish  pretty  face,  it  was  the 
face  of  most  perfect  innocence,  yet  Mrs.  Hanson  looked  with 
eyes  of  suspicion. 

"The  weather  be  holding  up,"  she  remarked,  she  was  a 
woman  who  never  came  straight  to  the  matter  in  hand,  as 
Betty  well  knew. 

"Grandmother  'ee  sent  for  I  ?" 

It  was  like  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy's  camp. 

"True  I  did  send  for  'ee,"  Mrs.  Hanson  frowned. 

"I  hev  had  from  young  Mr.  Allan  Homewood  an  offer  with 
which  I  be  greatly  surprised." 

"From — from "  the  colour  deepened  in  the  pretty 

cheeks,  a  fact  that  Mrs.  Hanson's  keen  eyes  did  not  miss. 

"And  why  pray  should  'ee  blush  at  the  mention  of  the 
gentleman's  name." 

"I  bean't  blushing,  grandmother." 

"And  now  'ee  be  lying  as  well,  Betty  Hanson." 

Betty  hung  her  head. 

"Very  distrustful  and  uneasy  I  be  in  my  mind,  very  dis- 
trustful. Betty  Hanson,  look  me  in  the  eye  and  answer  me 
this :  what  be  there  between  'ee  and  Mr.  Allan  Homewood  ?" 

"Oh!  oh  grandmother — there "  Betty  was  silent,  she 

pressed  her  hands  against  her  breast.  "Be-between  I  and 
Mr.  Homewood  grandmother,  what — what  should  there  be  ?" 

"There  should  be  nothing  Miss,  but  there  be!  there  be,  I 
see  it.  What  be  he  to  thee  ?" 

"Nothing,  nothing,  nothing.  Oh  grandmother,  why  do  'ee 
worry  I  so  ?  I  wish — I  wish — I  hadn't  come !" 

"If  so  be  as  your  mind  were  at  rest  and  your  conscience 
clear,  Betty  Hanson,  'ee  wouldn't  hev  said  that !  Now  answer, 
answer  me  and  speak  the  truth  for  I  be  your  dead  father's 
mother  and  your  only  living  relative  I  be.  What  be  Mr. 
Allan  Homewood  to  'ee  ?" 

"Nothing,"  the  girl  whispered,  "he  bain't  nothing  to  I — 


274      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

nothing,  and  if  anyone  hev  told  'ee  contrairywise  he  be  a 
liar!" 

"The  truth  I  will  hev !  nor  shall  'ee  leave  this  place " 

Mrs.  Hanson  rose,  she  crossed  the  room  to  the  door  and  turned 
the  ponderous  key.  "The  truth  will  I  hev  before  I  shall  allow 
'ee  to  depart,  what  be  Mr.  Allan  Homewood  of  Homewood 
Manor  House,  to  'ee,  Betty  Hanson  ?" 

Betty  did  not  answer.  She  sat  with  bowed  head,  she  wrung 
and  twisted  ]ier  hands. 

"I — I  did  see  he — of  nights  of  moonlight — nights  in — in 
the  old  garden,"  she  whispered. 

Mrs.  Hanson  bristled,  she  sat  upright :  "  'Ee  did  see  him  of 
nights  in  the  old  garden  I  Oh !  shame  on  'ee  shame 

"So  this  be  the  meaning  of  your  perilous  bad  conduct, 
slipping  away  out  of  the  cottage  of  nights  to — to  meet — a 
man,  a  man!  Terribul  deceitful  and  deceiving  'ee've  been 
all  this  while,  terribul  and  shameful  and  perilous  Betty 
Hanson." 

"  'Twasn't  a  man  I  went  to  see,"  Betty  cried,  "Grand- 
mother 'twere  no  man." 

"No  man  and  'ee  said  with  your  own  lips " 

"Grandmother,  'ee  can  never,  never  understand — it — were 
a — a  ghost " 

Mrs.  Hanson  fell  back  on  her  chair,  her  black  eyes  blazed 
in  indignation. 

"  'Ee've  said  enough,  either  'ee  be  daft  or  the  greatest  liar 
as  I  ever  did  hear  on,  a  Ghost !  'ee  wicked  deceitful  maid,  a 
ghost  indeed !" 

"Grandmother,  'ee  could  never,  never  understand.  I'll  try 

and  make  'ee,  but  I  know "  Betty  shook  her  head,  "  'ee 

never  will.  'Twasn't  Allan " 

"Allan,"  Mrs.  Hanson  lifted  her  two  hands. 

"  'Twasn't  Allan,  I  did  see  in  the  old  garden,  but  a  ghost 
I  see  him  and  others,  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  all  in  strange 
clothing,  Grandmother,  and  Allan  he  were  for  ever  digging, 


THE  AWAKENING  275 

he  in  his  old  brown  suit  wi'  the  brass  buckles  to  his  shoes 
and " 

"Betty  Hanson,  stop,  stop,  this  minit;  not  another  word 
will  I  sit  here  and  listen  to,  I  hev  made  up  my  mind. 

"This  day,  this  man,  this  Allan,  as  'ee  do  so  shamelessly 
call  him,  made  an  offer  to  me.  A  fine  offer  that  I  did  greatly 
mistrust.  'Tis  this — take  the  child — away  he  said,  take  her 
far  away,  don't  worrit  her  wi'  Abram  Lestwick,  and  I  will 
allow  'ee  and  her  tu,  the  thirty-five  shillings  a  week,  the  same 
as  Abram's  money  and  a  cottage  all  for  nothin'  so  as  'ee  du 
take  she  far  away  from  Homewood." 

"Oh!  oh!  he  said  that?" 

"Aye  he  did,  my  maid,  which  du  mean  as  he  be  tired  of  'ee, 
tired,  'ee  hear  me,  tired  as  men  du  tire  of  women  like  'ee." 

Betty  lifted  her  head  slowly,  she  looked  at  the  grandmother 
and  her  pretty  face  blazed  with  sudden  anger.  She  rose: 

"Grandmother,  'ee  be  a  wicked  woman,  a  bad  despiteful 
wicked  woman.  What  'ee  hev  said,  shames  'ee  more,  more 

than  it  does  me,  shames  'ee,  and — and "  she  broke  down 

suddenly,  she  sank  back  sobbing  on  to  the  chair,  she  rocked 
to  and  fro.  "  'Ee  could  never,  never  understand  'twasn't 
Allan,  yet  'twas  Allan  and  I  know  he  were  something  to  I, 
something  very,  very  dear  and  precious  he  were  to  I.  But 
oh !  oh !  'ee  could  never  understand." 

"I  du  understand  this,"  Mrs.  Hanson  said,  "I  do  under- 
stand that  'ee  shall  marry  Abram  Lestwick.  An  honest  and 
upright  man,  and  'ee  shall  never  take  money  from  him  as 
'ee  du  most  shamelessly  call  Allan,  never,  nor  I.  Money 
taken  from  he  would  choke  me,  'twould  spring  up  like  the 
tares  and  choke  me." 

Mrs.  Hanson  pointed  a  bony  finger  at  the  girl. 

"  'Ee  shall  marry  Abram  Lestwick  a  good  man  and  honest, 
'ee  shall  become  his  wife.  I  hev  said  it,  and  I  say  it  again 
and  I  shall  listen  to  no  more  of  this  nonsense,  and  as  for  Mr. 
Allan  Homewood  for  all  he  be  a  frank  and  outspoken  gentle- 
man and  lib'ral  wi'  his  money,  I  would  take  shame  to  myself 


276      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

to  accept  of  anything  from  he,  nor  allow  'ee  to  do  likewise. 
Marry  Abram  Lestwick  'ee  shall " 

"I  never  will,"  Betty  leaped  up,  her  face  convulsed,  "I 
never  will,  I  hain't  your  grand-darter  any  more,  I  bean't 
nothing  to  'ee,  I  wunt  listen  to  'ee !  I  wunt !  I  be  free,  free 

— and "  she  turned  and  darted  to  the  door,  she  wrenched 

at  the  heavy  old  key  and  turned  it,  just  as  Mrs.  Hanson  rose 
and  came  stiffly  to  prevent  her. 

But  Betty,  younger  and  more  active  succeeded,  she  tore 
the  door  open  and  in  the  open  doorway  turned : 

"I  hain't  your  grand-darter  anymore!  I  be  free  of  'ee, 
I  wunt  marry  Abram  Lestwick,  I — I'll  be — damned  if  I  du." 

"Stop!"  Mrs.  Hanson  said  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  but 
Betty  did  not,  she  turned  and  fled  into  the  night  and  the  old 
woman  unable  to  pursue  stood  there  shaking  and  quivering 
with  honest  indignation. 

"De-fiant  her  be,  perilous  defiant  and  hev  soiled  her  lips 
wi'  foul  and  unseemly  words,  her  henceforth  be  no  grand- 
darter  of  mine.  From  this  moment  I  du  renounce  she." 

Sobbing,  panting,  her  little  heart  labouring,  down  the 
road  sped  Betty,  and  then  suddenly  she  saw  him  coming, 
slowly  towards  her,  and  to  him  she  ran  with  eager  out- 
stretched hands  and  a  little  cry  of  joy. 

"O  Allan,  Allan  be  'ee  come  to  meet  I  ?  0  Allan,  I  be 
all  upset  and  put  about,  I  be " 

"Betty — why  Betty  child,  what  is  it,  what  has — come,"  he 
added  as  she  clung  to  his  hand  sobbing  like  a  broken  hearted 
child. 

"Be  kind  to  me,  be  kind  to  me,  for  I  be  all  broken  hearted," 
she  pressed  her  tear-stained  face  against  his  sleeve. 

"Allan,  I  be  all  broken  hearted.  Her  be  harsh  and  cruel 
wi'  me,  and  said — said  things — things — Oh!"  she  pressed 
her  face  tightly  to  his  sleeve,  to  hide  the  hot  flush  of  shame 
that  came  to  her. 

"Hush  little  girl,  hush,"  he  said,  "don't  cry,  did  your 


THE  AWAKENING  277 

grandmother  tell  you  what  I  suggested  about — about  you  and 
her  going  away ?" 

"She  told  me — she  told  me,  and  she  said  she  wouldn't  hev 
it,  she  said  that  I  must  marry  Abram." 

"You  never  shall,  Betty,  don't  cry,  I  swear  before  Heaven 
you  never  shall,  trust  me,  rely  on  me  in  this,  for  rather  than 
that,  I  would  kill  the  man,  kill  him  with  my  two  hands. 
Betty,  you  hear  me  ?" 

"Aye  I  hear  'ee ;  say  it  again  Allan,  say  it  over  again,  say 
as  'ee  would  kill  he,  rather  than  I  should  marry  he." 

"I  mean  it,  and  it  shall  never  be,  and  your  grandmother 
then  will  not  agree  to  my  plan.  Well,  it  does  not  matter,  you 
will  be  perhaps  happier  without  her,  I  shall  find  some  place 
where  neither  your  grandmother  nor  Abram  Lestwick  will 
trouble  you,  with  people  who  will  be  good  and  kind  to  you 
and  will  make  your  life  happy.  Your  future  shall  be  pro- 
tected, too." 

"Let  me  stay.  Let  me  stay  here,  and  bide  with  'ee,  don't, 
don't  send  me  away  from  'ee  Allan,  don't  'ee  send  me  away." 

"Hush,"  he  said.  "Hush,"  he  was  bitterly  disappointed, 
he  had  thought  all  arranged,  and  now — but  her  pitiful  crying 
wrung  his  heart,  poor  little  maid,  poor  dear  little  soul,  he 
put  his  arm  about  her  and  tried  to  soothe  and  quiet  her. 

"Betty,  Betty,  don't  cry,  don't  cry,  it  hurts  me  to  hear 
you  cry  and  child,  try  and  understand  how — how  impossible 
it  all  is.  There  is  no  other  way,  you  yourself  will  see  it  and 
understand  it  presently." 

"Don't  send  me  away  from  'ee  for  I  shall  die,  I  shall  die 
if  'ee  do."  She  was  nestling  close  to  him,  holding  his  baud 
in  both  her  own,  pressing  it  against  her  wet  cheek. 

Supposing  someone  should  happen  down  the  road  and  what 
more  likely — oh  no,  this  would  never  do. 

"Come,  Betty !    Come,  be  brave,  we  must  talk  of  this." 

Not  far  away  was  the  little  green  gate,  and  he  drew  her 
towards  it  and  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  wall  a  man  flattened 
himself  against  the  brickwork  and  held  his  breath  as  they 


278      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

passed  him  so  closely,  that  he  might  have  stretched  out  his 
hand  and  touched  them  as  they  went,  a  man  who  was  shak- 
ing strangely  with  passion  and  whose  eyes  gleamed  from  the 
dark  shadows.  And  then  the  little  green  door  opened  and 
took  them  and  Abram  Lestwick  stepped  into  the  roadway. 

"Pleasant  spoken,"  he  said.  "Aye,  pleasant  spoken  he  he. 
Pleasant  spoken !"  He  repeated  the  words  a  score  of  times, 
he  went  to  the  green  door  and  his  hands  worked  with  it.  He 
fingered  the  heavy  old  nail  heads  with  which  it  was  studded. 

"Very,  very  pleasant  spoken  he  he — robbing  me  of  she — 

robbing — robbing ."    He  scratched  at  the  paint  with  his 

nails,  then  muttering  to  himself,  turned  away  and  went  down 
the  road. 

Allan  led  Betty  into  the  garden,  he  led  her  along  the  path 
between  the  tall  yews  and  as  they  walked  he  spoke  to  her. 
It  was  difficult,  yet  it  must  be  done.  His  heart  yearned  to 
her  in  pity — the  spell  of  her,  the  fascination  of  her  was  on 
him,  but  he  fought  against  it — her  childlike  weeping  set  him 
longing  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  to  comfort  her,  hold  her,  kiss 
her  tears  away,  for  the  weeping  of  women  and  of  children 
always  affected  him  greatly. 

"Betty,  don't  cry,  Betty  listen  to  me.  Be  reasonable,  be 
sensible  my  dear,  listen ." 

"O  Allan,  oh  sir,  that  you — that  you  of  all  should  turn 
against  thy  Betty." 

His  Betty — what  memories  the  words  awakened,  memories 
of  this  same  garden,  of  a  little  maid  in  quaint  mob  cap,  with 
pretty  mittened  hands  and  eyes  all  ashine  with  love — for 
him — Thy  Betty,  that  maid  had  said  as  she,  by  his  side,  had 
said  it  but  ,a  moment  ago — His  Betty  1 

Perhaps  the  devil  walked  with  them  that  night  along  the 
path  under  the  dark  yews,  perhaps  he  tapped  Allan  on  the 
shoulder  and  wjbispered  in  his  ear. 

Allan  turned  to  her  suddenly,  he  gripped  her  wrists,  he 
tore  her  hands  away  from  her  face,  his  voice  was  harsh, 
as  unlike  his  own  voice  as  voice  could  be. 


THE  AWAKENING  279 

"Listen,  you — you  must — this — this  cannot  go  on.  What 
the  past  held,  God  knows — yet  whatever  it  held,  it  cannot  and 
shall  not  influence  the  future.  I  have  a  wife,  I  am  bound  in 
honour  to  her,  in  honour  to  you,  Betty.  Hush,  leave  off  cry- 
ing, you  hear  me  ?" 

She  was  frightened  by  the  stern  authority  in  his  voice  and 
left  off  her  whimpering. 

"What  I  am  doing,  what  I  want  to  do  is  for  your  own  sake, 
and  for  mine  because  you  are  young  and  well  nigh  friendless 
and  very  beautiful,  because  I  too  am  young  and — and  afraid, 
yes  afraid — Betty." 

"Oh  Allan,  of— of  me?" 

"Yes  of  you,  and  for  you  Betty,  I  want  you  to  be  happy 
and,  dear,  I  want  happiness  myself.  This  old  garden,  the 
garden  here  about  us  has  meant  so  much  to  us  both,  better 
dear  that  you  should  go  and  never  see  it  again,  for  then  in 
time  you  will  forget,  and  the  love  you  speak  of  is  not  real, 
it  cannot  be  real,  it  is  born  of  dreams  Betty  and  like  a  dream 
it  will  pass." 

"Why — why  when  I  du  love " 

"You  know  why,  because  I  have  a  wife,  because  I  love  her 
and  honour  her  and  would  sooner  cut  off  my  hand  than 
cause  her  one  moment  of  shame,  of  pain  or  unhappiness." 

He  bent  nearer  to  her,  he  could  see  her  face  glimmering 
white  so  near  to  his,  so  tempting,  yet  he  was  not  tempted. 

"It  means  her  happiness,  do  you  know  why — because — and 
God  knows  that  I  speak  without  vanity,  but  very  humbly,  be- 
cause I  believe  that  she  loves  me — how  could  I  hurt  her 
through  you,  would  you  hurt  her  ?" 

"I  would  die  for  her!"  She  wrenched  her  hands  free 
from  his,  she  stood  before  him. 

"I — I  will  think  of  all  as  'ee  have  said  to  I,  sir,  and  I — I 
will  try  and  bring  myself  to  thy  way  of  thinking  and  I — I 
will  try  and  bring  myself  to — oh  no,  no!  I  can't,  I  can't !" 
She  broke  down,  sobbing  wildly,  then  suddenly  gained  con- 
trol of  herself.  "I  will  not — not  trouble  thee  any  more,  sir." 


280     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Betty,  listen,"  lie  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  and 
held  her.  "Take  time,  take  time,  think  this  over,  to-day  is 
Monday,  in  three  days,  not  hefore  three  days,  you  will  make 
up  your  mind,  Betty,  come  to  me — here  in  this  place — in 
three  days — on  Thursday  night  at  this  hour,  come  and  tell 
me  then,  child,  that  you  will  be  wise  and  sensible." 

"I — I  will  come  to  7ee  here  in  three  days "  she  said 

slowly,  "and  then  I  will  tell  'ee,  sir,  what  I  shall  do, — in- 
three  days — good  night !"  She  turned  away,  standing  there 
he  heard  her  go  and  heard  a  strange  little  moaning  noise  com- 
ing back  to  him  from  out  the  darkness  as  she  went. 

So,  after  waiting  a  time,  he  too  turned  towards  the  house 
and  passed  down  the  wide  flagged  pathway,  and  the  man  on 
the  stone  bench  by  the  sundial  let  him  pass  unchallenged. 


CHAPTER   XXXIH 

BY  THE  LAKE 

LORD  GOWERHURST  made  an  affecting  little  speecK, 
for  the  time  of  parting  had  come.  Sir  Josiah's  big  car, 
all  spick  and  span,  with  the  respectable  Bletsoe  at  the  wheel, 
was  waiting  outside  the  hall  door,  so  too  was  Mr.  Coombe's 
automobile,  which  seemed  to  require  some  of  its  owner's  at- 
tention at  the  last,  moment,  for  Mr.  Coombe  was  only  visible 
as  to  his  legs  and  feet,  the  rest  of  him  being  out  of  sight 
under  his  car.  . 

"This  visit,  a  trifling  thing  perhaps  to  you,  my  love,  has 
been  to  me  like  an  oasis,  a  green  and  fragrant  oasis  be-gad,  in 
the  desert  of  my  life !  I  am  leaving  my  dear,  dear  daugh- 
ter  "  his  lordship  turned  his  fine  eyes  upwards  and  his 

voice  s.hook  with  noble  emotion.  "I  am  leaving  my  dear, 
dear  daughter  surrounded  by  love  and  happiness,  I  am  leav- 
ing her  in  her  pretty  little  home ."  He  spoke  of  the  place 

as  though  it  were  a  cottage,  to  impress  Messrs.  Cutler  and 

Jobson  with  the  idea  of  his  own  magnificence — "and  I " 

he  sighed,  "I  go  back  to  my  quiet  humdrum  life,  my  poor 
chambers,  my  loneliness !  Often  and  often  as  I  sit  alone  in 
my  rooms,  I  shall  picture  you  and  this  home  of  yours  to  my- 
self. I  am  an  old  man,  an  old  man  my  dear,  and  my  time — 

may  not  be  long ."  He  sighed  deeply,  there  were  tears 

in  those  fine  eyes  of  his.  Kathleen  was  very  patient,  she  knew 
her  father's  love  for  these  tender,  meaningless  speeches, 
she  bore  with  them  as  she  bore  with  him,  with  a  sweet  un- 
tiring patience. 

But  he  had  done  at  last,  he  had  taken  his  place  in  Sir 
Josiah's  car,  Sir  Josiah  was  seated  beside  him,  Mr.  Coombe'a 

281 


282      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

arrangements  and  re-arrangements  were  complete,  his  oil- 
smeared  countenance  was  beaming,  "All  aboard!"  he  cried. 
"All  aboard !  You're  coming  with  me  this  time.  Cutler,  eh  ? 
Well  shew  'em  the  way,  my  boy !" 

"Good-bye,  Allan,  my  lad,  good-bye  and  thank  'ee,  thank 
'ee  for  a  very  happy  time  and  good-bye,  Lady  Kathleen,  and 
thank  you  too  for  a  time  as  I  shan't  forget  in  a  hurry !" 

Jobson  tried  to  make  a  little  speech,  but  broke  down 
through  nervousness. 

But  Kathleen  saved  him  all  embarrassment.  "It's  been 
splendid  having  you  and  when  you  are  gone  I  shall  miss  you 
all  terribly,  terribly,  and  you  must  all  promise  to  come  again 
soon,  very  soon,  Mr.  Jobson,  and  you  Mr.  Coombe,  and  you 
Mr.  Cutler!" 

"Just  ask  me,  my  Lady,  just  give  me  the  chance,  that's 
all !"  shouted  Mr.  Coombe— "Don't  forget  my  telephone  num- 
ber, City  double  three  double  five  one  four " 

"I  think,  sir,"  said  Bletsoe,  "as  we'd  best  let  Mr.  Coombe 
get  away  with  his  little  lot  first,  we  won't  want  their  dust  all 
the  time,  nor  yet  have  him  trying  to  pass  us  every  two 
minutes." 

"Quite  right!"  said  Sir  Josiah.  "Yes,  by  all  means  allow 
Mr.  Coombe  to  get  away !" 

"I  shall  feel  no  personal  grief  if  Mr.  Coombe  gets  entirely 
away !"  said  his  lordship.  He  did  not  like  motoring,  but  the 
lift  that  Sir  Josiah  had  offered  him  had  been  accepted.  It 
meant  that  he  would  not  have  to  purchase  a  ticket  to  Town. 

"Good-bye  father,  good-bye  dear  Sir  Josiah !" 

Kathleen  had  clambered  on  to  the  running  board  of  the 
car  like  any  young  girl  for  a  last  kiss.  His  lordship  dis- 
approved of  exhibitions  of  affection  before  menials,  he  waved 
a  white  hand. 

"Good-bye,  dear  child !"  But  Sir  Josiah  was  not  to  be  de- 
prived of  his  kiss. 

"It's  all  right,  Bletsoe!"  he  said  at  last  with  a  sigh,  "I 
think  Mr.  Coombe  has  got  well  away." 


BY  THE  LAKE  283 

They  had  stayed  late,  would  have  stayed  later,  Irat  for  his 
lordship's  anxiety  to  be  back  in  town.  As  it  was,  the  sun 
,was  near  its,  setting,  the  sweet  mellow  glow  of  the  evening 
was  on  the  earth,  and  the  distances  were  purple  against  the 
red  and  yellow  sky. 

They  stood  in  the  roadway,  waving,  Allan  and  Kathleen 
and  Scarsdale.  She  could  have  wished  that  he  had  gone  with 
them  and  mentally  took  herself  to  task  for  her  lack  of  hos- 
pitality. 

And  now  the  white  dust  whirled  up  by  the  stout  tyres  of 
Sir  Josiah's  car,  blotted  it  out.  It  was  gone  and  Kathleen 
slipped  her  hand  through  Allan's  arm. 

Scarsdale  saw  it.  It  was  done  so  spontaneously,  it  seemed 
so  natural  that  it  angered  him,  his  face  stiffened.  She  had 
married  the  fellow  for  money,  for  nothing  else,  why  did  she 
find  it  necessary  to  make  such  pretence  with  him?  It  was 
mere  acting,  he  knew  that,  yet  he  felt  she  over-acted  the  part 
and  she  fell  a  little  in  his  estimation,  though  his  love  for  her 
and  desire  of  her  was  no  less  than  before. 

A  man  with  bent  head  trudged  past  them  down  the  road,  he 
lifted  his  hand  to  his  hat  and  touched  it  as  he  went,  yet 
never  gave  them  a  glance.  His  hand,  having  reached  his 
hat,  remained  with  it  for  some  moments,  his  fingers  fumbling 
at  the  brim,  then  he  was  gone. 

"Who  was  that  ?"  Kathleen  asked. 

Allan  hesitated  for  a  moment 

"A  man  named  Lestwick — he  is " 

"Oh  I  know,  so  that  is  the  man,  Allan !  I  can  understand 
that  child's  feeling,  I  don't  like  him,  I  don't  like  him,  there 
is  something  about  him " 

Kathleen's  eyes  followed  the  black  figure  down  the  road. 
"I  don't  know  why,"  she  said,  "it  may  be  unjust  and  prob- 
ably is,  but  I — I  seemed  to  feel  a  chill,  a  sense  of  dislike,  of 
distaste  as  he  passed  us  by !" 

"Poor  wretch,  he  is  to  be  pitied  since  Kathleen  dislikes 
him !"  Scarsdale  said  and  a  note  of  irony  and  sarcasm  crept 


284,      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

into  his  voice,  which,  she  detected  in  a  moment  and  her 
cheeks  flushed  a  little. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said  gently,  "I  may  be  mistaken,  I  hope 
I  am,  one  is  often  mistaken  in  one's  likes  and  dislikes,  it  is 
not  well  to  trust  too  much  to  instinct !" 

"What  did  she  mean?"  Scarsdale  wondered,  but  he  said 
nothing  and  they  went  back  into  the  house,  the  house  that 
seemed  strangely  deserted  and  silent. 

When  the  friends,  whose  pleasant  voices  have  sounded  in 
the  rooms,  have  gone  their  ways,  like  them  much  or  little  as 
we  may,  there  is  always  a  sense  of  loneliness  and  desertion 
about  the  place.  Who  can  tell  if  the  hospitable  door  will  ever 
open  to  them  again?  Noisy  Mr.  Coombe  and  embarrassed 
Mr.  Jobson — we  have  no  great  affection  for  them  perhaps, 
yet  because  they  were  here  a  while  ago  and  the  place  seems 
empty  without  them,  we  can  spare  them  a  passing  regret,  we 
can  admit  to  ourselves  that  we  miss  them  just  a  little. 

"You  will  find  it  a  little  dull  now,  I  am  afraid  Harold," 
Kathleen  said. 

"I  shall  not  find  it  dull  here!" 

"Dull "  when  she  was  near,  perhaps  that  was  what  his 

words  meant  to  convey,  but  Allan  who  heard  them,  noticed  no 
double  meaning,  no  particular  tenderness  underlying  the 
words. 

"Allan  must  neglect  Mr.  Custance  a  little  now  and  give 
you  more  of  his  time." 

"If  you  say  that  then  you  will  make  me  feel  that  I  am  not 
wanted.  I  should  hate  to  think  that  you  regard  me  as  a 
person  who  must  be  entertained.  If  I  thought  that  my  pres- 
ence here,  Homewood,  made  the  very  smallest  difference  to 
your  arrangements,  then  I  should  want  to  leave  you  at  once !" 

"And  I  hope  that  you  won't  think  of  leaving  for  a  long 
while  to  come,"  said  Allan  heartily. 

"But  you  must — must  give  him  a  little  more  time,  Allan," 
Kathleen  said  presently.  "He  is  your  guest " 

"But  your  old  friend,  dear,  you  and  he  have  far  more  to 


BY  THE  LAKE  285 

talk  about  than  he  and  I  could  have !  You  have  the  past  to 
dig  in !"  He  smiled. 

The  past — how  little  he  knew !  Her  heart  smote  her.  She 
ought  to  have  told  him  and  yet,  after  all,  how  little  was  there 
to  tell  ?  The  man  she  had  loved  had  come  back  and  she  had 
discovered  that  she  had  lived  in  a  fool's  paradise,  that  she  had 
not  loved  the  man,  but  rather  had  loved  her  love  for  him,  had 
idealised  it  and  had  made  of  it  the  sweetest,  holiest  and  best 
thing  in  her  life.  And  now  at  last  with  eyes  open  and  clear, 
she  could  see  that  her  gold  had  been  tinsel  after  all,  her  flow- 
ers so  fresh  and  glorious  and  beautiful  had  been  but  poor 
counterfeits  of  paper  or  coloured  rag,  the  hero  so  noble,  so 
brave,  so  unselfish  and  splendid,  whose  image  she  had  en- 
shrined in  her  heart  was  after  all  but  a  very  ordinary  man, 
very  weak  and  selfish  and  lacking  all  those  fine  qualities  with 
which  in  her  heart  she  had  endowed  her  childhood's  knight. 

And  now  the  guests  were  gone,  all  but  Harold  Scarsdale — 
and  how  she  wished  that  he  too  had  gone  with  the  others — 
She  and  Allan  were  alone  and  the  time  had  come  to  tell  him 
that  wonderful  news ! 

And  because  the  time  had  come,  there  came  to  Kathleen  a 
thousand  fears.  There  came  too  a  strange  sense  of  modesty, 
a  shrinking  that  would  not  be  there  if  only  he  loved  her.  If 
only  he  loved  her — wouM  he  be  glad,  glad  and  proud,  or 
would  he  be  sorry  and  disappointed,  worst  of  all  perhaps  he 
would  be  indifferent!  And  that  would  be  the  hardest,  the 
cruelest  thing  of  all  to  bear. 

Yet  she  must  tell  him. 

To-night,  yes  to-night,  and  yet  when  to-night  came  she — 
coward-like — put  it  off. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said,  "I  will  tell  him  in  the  sunshine  in 
the  garden,  so  that  I  may  watch  his  face  and  know — know 
without  spoken  words  what  his  thoughts  and  feelings 
are " 

So  to-night  she  lay  sleepless  beside  him,  torturing  herself 
with  those  fears  that  come  to  a  woman  who  loves,  torturing 


286      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

herself  till  at  last  her  nerves  were  all  unstrung  and  she  could 
lie  here  no  longer.  So  she  rose  softly,  not  to  waken  him, 
and  went  to  the  window  and  stared  out  into  the  glory  of  the 
brilliant  night. 

Somewhere  far  away  was  her  father,  prohably  playing 
cards  in  his  Club  or  billiards.  How  idle  were  those  fine  senti- 
mental touching  speeches  of  his,  how  little  she  believed  in 
them !  She  drew  her  thoughts  away  from  her  father,  they  fol- 
lowed old  Sir  Josiah  instead. 

How  fine  and  good  and  noble  he  was,  how  sincere  and  hon- 
est !  And  what  he  was,  she  knew  that  Allan  was  too,  generous 
and  honourable,  kind  of  heart,  true — true  as  steel!  What 
wonder  then  that  she  should  love  him,  that  her  love  for  him 
should  awaken — 

Her  thoughts  were  interrupted,  from  the  dark  shadows  in 
the  garden  below  there  came  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  a 
little  moaning,  sobbing  cry.  Kathleen  was  startled. 

She  was  a  woman  and  therefore  not  without  superstition, 
what  good,  honest,  tender  woman  has  not  some  trace  of 
superstition  in  her  mind  ?  Just  for  a  moment  Kathleen  held 
her  breath  and  listened  intently.  Again  she  heard  the  sound 
and  at  the  same  time  a  light  footfall  and  then,  watching,  she 
saw  a  little  figure  come  creeping  from  out  the  shadows  into 
the  white  path  of  the  moon. 

Betty — she  knew  the  child  in  an  instant — Betty  out  at  this 
hour,  Betty  in  some  sore  trouble,  crying  to  herself !  She  had 
a  mind  to  call  softly  to  the  girl,  yet  did  not,  for  fear  of 
waking  him.  So  she  sat  for  a  moment  or  so  and  watched  the 
girl  go  slowly  down  the  paved  pathway  and  then  Kathleen 
made  up  her  mind.  She  rose,  she  thrust  her  white  feet  into 
slippers,  she  threw  a  dressing  gown  on  and  went  creeping 
down  the  silent  stairs. 

Softly  she  drew  back  a  bolt  and  turned  a  key  and  opened 
a  door  that  gave  on  to  the  garden. 

The  radiant  light  of  the  moon  flooded  the  place,  all  save 
under  the  tall  yews,  where  the  shadows  lay  blackly.  But  of 


BY  THE  LAKE  287 

the  girl  she  could  see  nothing,  yet  had  noted  the  way  she  had 
gone. 

Like  a  ghost  herself,  a  very  lovely  spirit  all  in  white,  her 
little  woollen  slippers  making  never  a  sound  on  the  old  flagged 
pavement,  she  sped  on  her  way. 

The  moaning  sobbing  cry  had  awakened  every  sympathy  in 
her  heart,  she  was  filled  with  womanly  tenderness  and  pity. 
"Poor  child,  poor  pretty  child!"  she  thought  and  so  hur- 
ried on,  looking  eagerly  for  the  little  lonely  figure.  Then 
presently  Kathleen  paused,  she  stood  still,  she  had  meant  to 
call  softly  to  Betty,  yet  did  not,  for  she  heard  the  moaning 
and  crying  near  at  hand  now. 

"Afraid — oh  afraid — terribul,  terribul  afraid  I  be!"  the 
broken  voice  whispered.  "But  I  must.  Oh,  I  must,  I  hev 
made  up  my  mind  to  it  and  I  must!" 

Half  a  dozen  noiseless  steps  and  Kathleen  saw  her.  The 
girl  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  pool,  her  hands  clasped  over 
her  breast. 

"Afraid,  oh  terribul,  terribul  afraid  I  be!"  she  whispered 
and  repeated  the  words  again  and  again.  Then  she  thrust  out 
one  bare  foot  and  touched  the  inky  water  with  it  and  drew 
back  with  a  low  cry  of  fear. 

"But  I  must,  I  must,  'tis  all  there  be  left  for  I  to  du  now ! 
I  must,  for  he  does  not  want  me  and  I  can't,  oh  I  can't 
du  what  he  wishes  me,  so  I  must ! — I — I  be  coming  to  'ee  my 
little  stone  maid,  perhaps  'ee  always  knowed  as  I  would  come 
to  'ee  one  day — I  be  coming  now,  I  be  coming  now !  It  seems 
as  'ee  always  meant  something  to  me,  little  stone  maid  stand- 
ing there,  seems  to  me  now  as  'ee  always  called  to  me  to  come 

and  I  be  coming  now — now "  She  stretched  out  her 

hands  and  suddenly  uttered  a  stifled  shriek  for  she  felt  strong 
tender  arms  about  her,  felt  herself  dragged  back  from  the 
water's  edge  and  then  all  in  a  moment  she  was  sobbing  out 
her  breaking  heart,  on  Kathleen's  breast. 

For  many  minutes  Kathleen  let  the  girl  weep  on  unre- 
strainedly, for  she  knew  it  for  the  better  way.  Let  her  shed 


288     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

her  tears,  since  she  could,  and  when  they  were  passed  the  little 
troubled  heart  would  be  all  the  easier  for  them. 

So  with  Kathleen's  arms  about  her,  Betty  wept  softly, 
clinging  to  the  other  woman  as  to  one  to  whom  she  looked 
for  love  and  help  and  protection  and  did  not  look  in  vain. 

And  then,  little  by  little,  Kathleen  drew  her  away  from  the 
pool,  drew  her  presently  to  the  stone  bench  beside  the  sun- 
dial and  made  her  sit  beside  her. 

"Why  Betty,  why  were  you  going  to  do  that — that  wicked 
thing?"  Kathleen  whispered.  "No,  child,  keep  your  face 
against  my  breast,  tell  me  while  I  hold  you !  You  are  safe 
with  me,  little  Betty,  you  know  that,  child,  don't  you  ?" 

"Oh  safe — safe  wi'  'ee,  safe  wi'  'ee !"  the  girl  moaned. 

"Why  did  you  wish  to  do  that  ?" 

"There  were  nothing  left  for  I  to  du.  Oh  I  didn't  want 
to,  for  I  were  afraid,  most  terribul  afraid — I  were,  but — but 
it  seemed  I  must,  'twas  as  if  the  little  stone  maid  were  calling 
to  I,  just — just  as  she  used  to  call  to  I  of  moonlight  nights 
when  I  were  in  my  grandmother's  cottage,  but — but  'twas 
different  then — then  I  had  not  seen  him,  only — only  in  my 
dreams!" 

"Seen  him  ?"  Kathleen  asked  softly. 

"Allan !"  the  girl  said  simply  and  for  the  moment  seemed 
to  forget  that  it  was  Allan's  wife  who  held  her  in  her  arms. 

"Allan?" 

"I  did  see  him  here,  here  in  the  old  garden,  long,  long  be- 
fore he  came  here  to  live,  many  times  I  saw  him  digging  at 
they  flower  beds,  him  all  in  brown  wi'  queer  brass  buckles  to 
his  shoes,  and  his  hat  all  dragged  down  over  his  face,  strange 
that  I  scarce  did  ever  see  his  face,  and  yet — yet  I  knew  him 
and  when  I  came  to  him  here  in  the  garden  while  he  sat  on 
this  very  bench  I  knew — oh  my  lady,  what  be  I  saying, 
what  be  I  saying?" 

But  Kathleen  did  not  answer.  It  had  come  to  her  with  a 
sudden  shock,  a  feeling  of  desolation,  of  hopelessness.  Allan, 
her  husband,  and  this  little  maid,  this  Betty  and  the  old  gar- 


BY  THE  LAKE  289 

den !  She  remembered  the  dream  of  which  he  had  told  her, 
that  night  in  a  London  theatre.  It  was  but  a  dream  then,  a 
picture  out  of  the  past  and  nothing  more  and  since  then  it 
had  become  reality  and  yet  he  had  not  told  her  as  he  had 
promised ! 

"And  I  du  love  him  so — so  cruel !"  the  girl  sobbed. 

Never  once  while  she  listened  to  this  confession  did  Kath- 
leen's arms  relax  their  hold  on  the  sobbing  girl,  yet  Kathleen's 
heart  was  being  tortured  and  wounded  by  every  word. 

Allan,  her  husband,  whom  she  had  regarded  as  the  soul  of 
honour— could  it  be — Allan  into  whose  ears  she  had  intended 
to  pour  this  wonderful  secret,  this  secret  of  a  little  life  yet 
to  be,  which  belonged  to  him  and  to  her ! 

"Oh  my  lady,  I  be  so  terribul  unhappy !"  Betty  whimpered, 
"So  terribul  unhappy  for  I  did  think  he  loved  me  as  I  loved 
him!" 

"And — did  he  not — love  you?"  Kathleen  whispered  and 
wondered  at  her  own  voice,  for  it  trembled  so  strangely,  it 
was  so  filled  with  eagerness,  with  fear  and  yet  with  hope. 

"He  was  mine — mine !"  the  girl  said  passionately.  "For 
'twas  he  I  saw  here  in  this  old  garden  many,  many  times — 
and  I  knew  him,  my  lady,  and  yet — yet  when  I  would  have 
felt  his  kisses  on  my  lips,  he  held  away  from  me — and  oh 
I  be  all  broken  hearted,  I  be,  and  now  he  be  set  against  me 
and  wishful  of  my  going  away  for  ever,  but  I  can't,  I  can't,  I 
would  sooner  die!  And  that  night  here — here  my  lady,  in- 
the  garden,  he  was  all  stern  and  angry  wi'  I !  He  told  me 
that  I  must  go,  that  it  would  be  for  my  good  and  that  I  should 
be  happy  and — and  he  told  me  my  lady  as  he  was  afraid  of  I, 
afraid — they  were  his  very  words !" 

"Thank  God  he  was  afraid !"  Kathleen  thought.  "Thank 
God  for  his  fears,  for  they  did  him  honour.  Oh  I  was 
wrong,  he  is  all  I  thought  him,  all  I  believed  him,  even  bet- 
ter, stronger,  braver,  thank  God!" 

"And  he  told  me,"  Betty  went  on  in  her  low  sobbing  voice, 
"that  I  were  to  come  to  him  here  in  the  garden  in  three 


nights,  'twere  Monday  then  and  to-morrow  night  I  be  to  see 
him  here  and  tell  him  what  I  will  do — if — if  I  will  go  far, 
far  away  and  be  wise  and  sensible — but  I  can't — I  can't 
'twould  break  my  heart !" 

"It  will  not  dear,"  Kathleen  said.  "It  will  not,  Betty !" 
Her  arm  tightened  about  the  girl,  she  was  such  a  child,  did 
not  her  very  confession  prove  it  ?  "It  seems  very  hard  to  bear 
now  Betty,  but  you  must  be  brave  and  good  and  sensible,  it 
will  be  far,  far  better  that  you  do  not  see  Allan,  my  hus- 
band, again,  for  it  is  not  for  your  happiness  to  see  him.  I  do 
not  understand,  Betty,  nor  do  I  think  that  even  you  and  he 
understand,  it  is  all  so  strange — so — so  unusual !  But  I  shall 

send  you  away "  she  paused.  It  was  so  easy  to  say  "I 

will  send  you  away,"  yet  where  could  she  send  the  child? 
For  a  moment  she  pondered  and  then  it  came  to  her  like  a 
flash  of  inspiration. 

"You  shall  go  away  Betty  quietly  and  no  one  need  know 
of  your  going  and  to-morrow  I  will  tell  him  that  you  are 
gone  and  that  you  and  he  will  not  meet  again.  You  will  be 
happy,  very  happy  with  those  to  whom  I  shall  send  you. 
Will  you  trust  me,  Betty  ?" 

"Trust  'ee ."  The  girl  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it 

passionately.  "And — and  bain't  I  to  see  him  again,  never  ?" 

"It  will  be  better  not,  Betty !" 

Betty  leaned  against  her  sobbing — "I  du  love  him " 

she  sobbed,  "and  it  will  be  terribul  to  go  and  never  see  him 
again !" 

"Had  you  thrown  yourself  into  the  water  to-night  you 
would  never  have  seen  him  again  and  you  would  have  caused 
him  grief  and  sorrow,  Betty,  so — so  dear  it  is  better  you 
should  go  quietly,  and  live  and  be  happy,  for  you  will  be 
happy,  child  and  you  will  forget!  You  are  only  a  child, 
Betty,  and — and  I — I  know  what  a  child's  love  means,  it  is 
seldom  the  real  love — it  will  pass,  for  such  love  does  pass,  I 
know,  Betty !  And  then — then  one  day  the  real  love,  the  love 
of  all  your  life  will  come  to  you  and  you  will  look  back  on 


BY  THE  LAKE  291 

these  memories  and  smile  at  them  and  when  that  day  comes, 

Betty "   Kathleen's  voice  shook  a  little,   "then — then, 

child,  go  down  on  your  knees  and  thank  God  that  you  gave 
your  child's  love  to  a  good  and  noble  man,  a  man  who  re- 
spected it — and  you — and — and  was  afraid — dear !" 

And  Betty,  if  she  did  not  understand,  was  comforted  by  the 
kind  voice  and  nestled  closer  to  Kathleen.  She  dried  her 
tears  and  presently  had  forgotten  them  and  was  smiling,  and 
the  little  tragedy  was  past. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE  GOING  OF  BETTY 

I  WANT,  dear  Sir  Josiah,  to  feel  that  the  child  is  happy 
and  well  cared  for,  her  life  here  has  not  been  a  very 
happy  one,  her  grandmother  was  trying  to  force  her  into  mar- 
riage with  a  man  she  hated,  a  man  I  myself  feel  instinctive 
mistrust  of.  I  send  her  to  you  because  I  know  of  no  one  so 
kind,  so  good,  so  generous.  I  know  that  you  will  do  all  you 
can  for  her.  I  do  not  wish  her,  and  I  do  not  think  she  herself 
wishes  ever  to  come  back  to  Homewood  again.  She  will  be 
happier  away  from  the  place  and  so,  dear  kind  friend,  to 
whom  I  seem  to  turn  instinctively  in  any  moment  of  doubt 
and  anxiety,  I  leave  her  in  your  hands,  knowing  that  all  you 
may  do  for  her  will  be  right  and  for  the  child's  own  good." 

Kathleen  had  written  the  letter  to  Sir  Josiah,  she  herself 
had  helped  to  pack  Betty's  little  box,  she  had  taken  the  de- 
pendable and  uncommunicative  Howard  into  her  confidence. 

"Your  ladyship  desires  me  to  see  the  young  woman  and  her 
box  safe  to  Sir  Josiah's  London  house  ?" 

"That  is  what  I  wish,  Howard,  and  I  wish  her  going  to  be 
kept  secret,  I  don't  want  others  to  know,  it  may  be  difficult, 
but " 

"It  can  quite  easily  be  arranged,  my  lady,  no  difficulty  at 
all.  I'll  have  the  closed  cab  from  the  village  and  if  your  lady- 
ship will  be  so  good  as  to  inform  the  young  person  she  is  to 
walk  quietly  out  of  the  house  and  to  take  the  Bursdon  Road, 
I  will  direct  the  driver  to  take  that  way,  my  lady,  and  pick 
her  up  and  tak$  her  on  to  Bursdon  station  and  catch  the 
three  thirty-five  for  London.  It  will  be  right  if  the  young 
person  was  to  start  at  say  half  past  two.  As  for  her  box 

292 


THE  GOING  OF  BETTY  293 

mv  la<?y,  I'll  manage  it,  so  that  no  one  sees  it — anything  else. 

1        1         Q1»  ^ 

my  lady  ?" 

"Nothing,  Howard,  and  I  thank  you  very  much,  you  are 
very,  very  helpful,"  Kathleen  said. 

Just  before  the  half  hour  after  two,  Betty  sobbing  as 
though  her  heart  was  breaking,  was  in  Kathleen's  room. 

"Oh  my  lady,  it  be  cruel  hard  to  have  to  go  and  leave  it 

all,  when  I  du  love  it  so  and "  she  paused  and  sobbed 

aloud  with  many  a  catch  of  the  breath,  as  a  child  does. 

Yet  Kathleen  felt  as  she  kissed  and  comforted  the  girl  that 
tears  so  easily  shed  might  be  just  as  easily  dried,  and  to 
prove  that  she  was  right,  in  a  little  while  Betty  began  to  dry 
her  eyes  and  shew  interest  in  her  destination. 

"To  think  that  I  be  actually  going  to  London,  my  lady,  a 
terribul  long  way  it  be  and  I  always  wishful  of  seeing  it, 

though  I  never — never "  and  then  a  fresh  torrent  of  tears 

and  sighs  and  cries,  tears  which  Kathleen  wiped  away. 

"You  will  be  very  happy,  Betty,  and  life  will  be  full  of 
interest  for  you.  London  is  a  wonderful  place,  you  cannot 
think  how  marvellous  the  shops  are.  Streets  and  streets  of 
them,  Betty — and  the  people  and  the  cars  and  carriages " 

Betty  listened,  wide  eyed,  forgetting  .her  grief  again. 

"And  there  be  theayters,  my  lady." 

"Many  of  them  and  you  shall  go  and  see  them,  Betty." 

The  girl  was  actually  smiling  now  and  then  suddenly,  re- 
membering her  sorrow,  she  began  to  cry  again.  But  Kath- 
leen felt  no  fears.  The  girl  was  genuine  and  sincere  enough, 
transparently  honest,  but  she  was  not  of  those  who  die  of 
broken  hearts. 

"Now  you  will  be  a  good  brave  girl,  you  know  dear  that 
you  must  go  because  it  will  be  kinder  to — to  him — to  me  and 
to  yourself.  You  are  going  to  someone  whom  I  love  very 
much  and  who  will  be  kind  to  you,  not  only  because  I  have 
asked  him  to  be  and  for  your  own  sake  too,  but  because  he  is 
kindness  itself.  You  know,  Betty,  that  you  must  go,  don't 
you  ?  You  know,  child,  that  it  is  not  possible  that  you  could 


294,      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

stay  on  here,  and — and  Betty,  you  are  going  somewhere  where 
you  will  never  see  Abram  Lestwick,  you  will  be  safe  from 
him." 

Betty  nodded,  she  even  smiled.  "Terribul  put  about,  and 
angry  will  Abram  be  when  he  finds  I  be  gone  and  grand- 
mother, her  too." 

There  was  mischief  and  even  enjoyment  in  her  smile  and 
Kathleen's  heart  felt  eased  and  at  peace.  She  wanted  to 
play  no  hard  and  cruel  part  in  this  little  drama,  she  did  not 
want  the  girl  to  go  broken  hearted  and  unhappy. 

"And  now — now  Betty,  it  is  time,"  she  said,  "time,  dear, 
for  you  to  go,  you — you  quite  understand  ?" 

"Oh — oh  my  lady  1"  And  once  more  Betty  was  all  tears, 
the  tears  rained  down  her  face  and  suddenly  she  rushed  to 
Kathleen  who  held  out  her  arms  to  her. 

"Good-bye,  my  dear,  good-bye  and  God  bless  you  and  bring 
you  to  happiness."  Kathleen  strained  her  in  her  arms,  held 
her  tightly  for  a  moment  and  then  let  her  go  and  her  own 
eyes  were  not  dry. 

Presently  Betty,  in  her  neat  little  black  gown,  opened  the 
arched  green  gate  for  the  last  time,  and  of  habit  peered  up 
and  down  the  road,  half  fearfully,  lest  someone  might  be 
there  waiting  for  her.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  Abram 
Lestwick.  In  the  distance  she  could  see  the  blue  smoke  curl- 
ing from  the  chimney  of  her  grandmother's  cottage  and  at 
the  sight  the  tears  were  gone  and  the  pretty  face  grew  a  trifle 
hard,  even  a  little  bitter. 

"And  now  we  shall  see  if  I  be  going  to  marry  Abram  Lest- 
wick, grandmother,"  she  thought,  "terribul  obstinate  I  be, 
yes  and  contrairy  and  a  perilous  bad  maid,  but  Abram  will 
hev  to  look  for  someone  else — 'Lizbeth  Colley,  who  due  bake 
such  wonderful  fine  currant  biscuits." 

She  laughed  softly  a  little  laugh  of  triumph,  mingled  with 
grief  and  then — then  she  stepped  out  into  the  white  roadway 
and  pulled  the  gate  after  her.  She  looked  along  the  high  wall 
of  old  red  brick,  over  which  she  had  clambered — bad,  perilous 


THE  GOING  OF  BETTY  295 

bad  maid  that  she  was — many  a  time.  The  wall  was  topped 
now  with  glittering  glass  and  seeing  it  the  tears  all  came  back 
with  a  rush  and  sobs  broke  from  the  labouring,  childish  breast. 

"Broken  hearted  I  be "  she  wailed,  "broken  hearted 

and  wishful  of  dying — oh — oh  never  never  to  see  him  again, 
never!"  She  looked  back  along  the  road  and  could  see  her 
grandmother's  cottage.  She  pictured  to  herself  her  grand- 
mother, that  stern,  unbending  woman,  sitting  in  her  stiff, 
high  backed  chair — waiting — waiting  for  her,  waiting  to 
have  her  will  with  her. 

And  the  thought  of  the  old  woman  sitting  there  waiting 
and  waiting  all  in  vain  banished  the  tears  from  the  bright 
eyes. 

"She  said  that  I  was  bad  and  that  I  must  go  and — and  so 
I  be  going  for  good — going  to  London.  Powerful  'quisitive 
I  be  to  see  what  London  looks  like,  bigger  than  Stretton  it  be, 
wi'  streets  of  shops  and  theayters  and  oh !"  Her  eyes  shone, 
the  grief  was  forgotten,  she  was  hurrying  on  her  way  down 
the  road  now.  The  red  wall  had  ceased  to  be  and  it 
seemed  as  though  the  enchantment  of  the  old  garden  that  it 
protected  was  lifted,  for  the  girl  was  smiling  and  her  eyes 
were  bright  with  anticipation  as  she  hastened  on  her  way, 
and  never  once  did  she  look  behind  her  now. 

"A  child's  love!"  Kathleen  thought,  "a  child's  love,  very 
real,  very  wonderful,  with  such  power  to  bring  grief  or  joy 
and  yet  after  all  only  a  child's  love — mine  lasted  for  ten 
long  years  and — and  then  it  passed — Little  Betty's,  how  long 
will  hers  last  ?  Ten  days,  ten  hours  perhaps — not  longer — 
poor,  pretty,  shallow  little  Betty,  yet  so  lovable — and  he,  my 
darling,  my  Allan  was  afraid — afraid  of  her  for  a  time — yes 
thank  God  afraid — and  told  her  so  nobly  and  bravely."  She 
smiled  at  her  thoughts  and  Scarsdale,  looking  at  her,  won- 
dered what  made  her  smile. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of  Kathleen?"  he  said. 

"Of  my  husband,"  she  said  gently. 

Scarsdale  turned  away,  he  looked  out  into  the  garden. 


296      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

Should  he  stay,  was  there  still  room  for  hope?  Was  she 
acting  a  part  as  he  believed  and  hoped,  or  did  it  mean  that  she 
had  ceased  to  care,  that  what  she  had  told  him  there  beside  the 
pool  was  true,  that  her  love  for  him  had  died  ?  Yet  it  might 
not  be  dead,  only  slumbering  for  a  while,  when  she  found,  as 
she  would  find,  that  Homewood  was  untrue  to  her,  that  of 
nights  he  was  meeting  a  girl,  a  servant  maid  in  the  garden, 
that  he  loved  that  girl,  what  then  ?  Would  she  not  come  back 
to  him,  eager  for  his  love  and  sympathy  and  protection  ?  He 
hoped  so  and  believed  so. 

"I  will  wait  a  while  yet,"  he  thought. 

They  missed  the  guests  of  the  past  few  days,  these  three, 
as  they  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  dining  room.  They  missed 
Sir  Josiah,  they  missed  noisy  genial  Mr.  Coombe,  even  they 
missed  his  lordship,  for  on  these  three  a  silence  had  fallen 
and  each  was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts. 

To-night  Betty  would  tell  him,  thought  Allan,  she  would 
tell  him  that  she  had  decided  to  be,  as  he  had  said,  sensible 
and  wise. 

"To-night,"  Kathleen  thought,  "to-night  she  would  tell 
him  all." 

And  ScarsdaWs  thoughts  were  the  same.  Would  she  come 
to  him  if  she  might  come  in  honour,  if  the  dishonour  fell  on 
other  shoulders  ?  He  believed  it  and  hoped  it  and  would  hope 
it  till  the  last. 

Kathleen  watched  Allan  that  evening,  watched  him  and 
saw  the  worried  anxious  look  on  his  face.  She  knew  that  he 
was  planning  to  meet  Betty,  yet  surely  never  a  lover  went  to 
meet  his  love  with  such  a  look  on  his  face  as  Allan's  wore 
this  night?  No,  he  did  not  love  her,  he  was  anxious  and 
troubled  about  her,  about  the  girl  herself  and  her  future 
and  presently  he  should  know  that  all  was  well,  that  Betty 
was  gone  and  would  be  happy  and  cared  for. 

So  when  the  darkness  had  fallen  completely,  she  rose  and 
went  up  to  her  own  room  and  changed  from  the  light  dinner 
dress  she  had  been  wearing  into  a  plain  dark  frock. 


THE  GOING  OF  BETTY  297 

"Will  he  be  glad  and  proud,  or  will  he  be  sorry?"  she 
asked  herself.  Glad  and  proud — please  God  he  would  be 
glad  and  proud !  And  if  it  brought  gladness  and  pride  to 
him,  what  then?  might  it  not  bring  love  also,  the  love  she 
hungered  for,  the  love  her  heart  craved? 

The  moon  was  late  rising  to-night.  There  was  no  light 
save  the  dim  faint  light  of  the  stars.  Somewhere  among 
the  tall  trees  an  owl  was  making  its  plaintive  cry.  Kathleen 
shivered  a  little  at  the  sound,  it  seemed  almost  like  an  ill 
omen.  She  knew  where  he  would  be  waiting  and  then  pres- 
ently in  the  deep  dark  shadows  under  the  high  old  yew  hedge 
she  found  him. 

He  heard  the  light  footfall,  he  heard  the  rustle  of  her 
dress  and  made  .no  doubt  that  it  was  Betty,  for  who  else 
would  come  to  him  here  in  this  place  ? 

"Betty!"  he  said. 

She  did  not  answer  him,  she  stood  still,  then  hesitatingly 
came  forward  towards  him.  But  he  offered  her  no  greeting, 
he  did  not  hold  out  his  hands  to  her.  He  seemed  even  to 
turn  away  from  her. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  and  did  not  even  look  towards  her.  "I 
have  given  you  time  to  think,  to  realise  that  what  I  hope 
to  arrange  for  you  is  all — all  for  your  good.  What  I  said  to 
you  that  night  was  true — Betty  we  do  not  and  we  should  not 
know  what  the  past  held  for  us,  that  we  do  know,  some- 
thing of  it  has  only  brought  us  unhappiness  and  heartache. 
But  the  past  is  past,  Betty,  it  belonged  to  another  life,  an- 
other generation  and  we  who  stand  here  to-night  have  to  deal 
only  with  the  present  and  even  more  with  the  future." 

Kathleen  stood  listening,  her  hands  pressed  against  her 
breast.  Was  she  wrong  to  listen  to  him,  knowing  that  his 
words  were  meant  for  other  ears?  If  he  but  turned  to  her 
now  he  might  see,  dim  though  the  light,  that  it  was  not  the 
little  country  girl  that  he  was  talking  to. 

Yet  he  did  not  look  at  her  once,  but  rather  at  the  ground, 
or  away  into  the  blue  black  distance. 


298     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"You  have  told  me  that  you  loved  me,  you  have  asked  me 
for  my  love,  forgetting  or  not  knowing,  dear,  that  I  could  not 
give  you  that  love  with  honour.  Could  I  feel  such  love  for 
you  it  would  but  dishonour  you,  dishonour  myself — and — and 
her,  Betty,  her."  His  voice  shook  for  a  moment 

"Once  you  came  to  me  in  a  strange  vision,  a  vision  out  of 
the  long  huried  past  I  was  heartwhole  then — and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  some  tie,  some  link  forged  in  another  life,  another 
existence  held  us  together,  that  vision  was  very  wonderful 
and  very  sweet  to  me,  it  lived  in  my  memory  for  many  and 
many  a  long  day  and  then — then  it  faded,  Betty,  it  faded — 
and  the  link  that  was  forged  in  the  past  was  snapped  and 
broken."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  went  on 
in  a  lower  voice. 

"It  ended  because  something  came  into  my  life  to  end  it, 
a  greater  love,  something  that  was  not  born  of  visions  and 
fancies  and  fancied  memories.  That  love,  Betty,  is  the 
most  wonderful,  the  most  beautiful  thing  that  has  ever  come 
to  me.  It  meant  my  salvation,  dear,  and  yours,  it  meant 
protection  for  you  and  for  ma  For  loving  her,  loving 

her "  his  voice  rose,  "loving  my  own  wife  with  all  my 

soul ." 

"Allan,  my  Allan!" 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  choking  cry,  he  peered  into  her 
face  through  the  darkness,  and  then  he  took  her  hands  and 
held  them,  drawing  her  closer  to  him  till  he  had  clasped  her 
hands  against  his  breast,  and  all  the  time  he  looked  into  the 
face  that  was  uplifted  to  his. 

"Kathleen!" 

"Who  needs  you,  even  as  you — you  love  her,  Allan,  who 
has  come  to  tell  you,  dear,  that  she  knows  all  and  honours 
you  and  respects  you  and  loves  you  with  all  her  heart  and 
soul  and  is — is  proud  of  you — proud !  I  sent  her  away,  dear, 
not  in  anger,  but  in  love.  Poor  child,  I  sent  her  away  all 
tears  that — that  I  think  will  soon  be  dried  and  to-night  I 
came  here  to  tell  you  this — to  tell  you  this  and — and " 


THE  GOING  OF  BETTY  299 

She  drew  even  closer  to  him  and  be  put  his  arms  about  her 

and  held  her  tightly,  "to  tell  you,  my  husband "  and  her 

voice  was  so  soft,  so  low  that  he  could  hear,  yet  only  just 
hear — "to  tell  you  that  God  is  sending  into  our  lives  some- 
thing to  make  us  happier  and  perhaps  better,  something  that 
will  belong  to  us  both,  something  for  us  to  share  and  to  love 
alike,  something  that  will  draw  us  nearer,  closer  together  and 
hold  us  together  all  our  lives.  Allan,  my  husband,  why  don't 
you  speak  to  me  ?  Allan,  are  you  glad  or  sorry,  dear  1  Oh 
Allan!" 

For  suddenly,  even  while  he  still  held  her  in  his  arms,  he 
slipped  down  on  his  knees  before  her  and  tried  to  tell  her  of 
the  pride,  the  joy  and  the  gladness  that  he  felt  and  yet  could 
tell  her  nothing,  save  that  he  loved  her. 

Beautiful  and  wonderful,  wonderful  above  all  women, 
more  angel  than  woman  to  him,  now  as  always. 

"You  are  giving  so  much,  so  much,  my  Kathleen,  but  you 
cannot  give  me  all  your  heart,  for  I  know  that  in  the  past 
there  was  someone ." 

"Someone  who  came  back,"  she  said,  "who  came  back,  Al- 
lan, and  when  I  saw  him  and  listened  to  him  again,  I  knew, 
oh  I  knew  that  my  love  was  never  love  at  all — I  think  it  was 
less  love  than  a  religion  with  me.  Allan,  don't  you  under- 
stand? He  is  nothing  to  me — no  more  than  any  other 
stranger,  any  guest  who  might  sleep  beneath  our  roof,  for 
the  love,  the  great  love  of  my  life  I  give,  my  husband,  to 
you — now  and  always!" 

And  then  the  pent  up  love  and  longing,  the  hunger  of  the 
time  of  waiting  found  expression.  She  stooped  to  him,  she 
put  her  arms  about  him,  she  drew  his  head  to  her  breast  and 
held  him  closely,  a  radiant  joy  in  her  heart,  knowing  him 
to  be  what  he  was,  worthy,  well  worthy  of  all  her  love, 
knowing  him  to  be  simple  and  brave,  strong  and  tender,  and 
even  though  brave,  still  afraid,  afraid  of  temptation  and  his 
man's  weakness. 


300     THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

So  she  held  him  and  blessed  him  and  her  heart  was  filled 
with  a  great  love  and  gratitude. 

Faint  though  the  starlight  was,  yet  the  watcher  away 
among  the  shadows  could  see  them  indistinctly  and  seeing 
them  fell  naturally  into  error.  For  how  should  he  dream 
that  it  was  husband  and  wife  he  spied  on  ?  He  watched  them 
presently  move  slowly  away,  the  man  with  his  arm  about  the 
woman,  she  with  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  and  the  man 
waiting  in  the  darkness  smiled,  wondering  how  long  would 
this  last,  how  long  before  Kathleen  knew? 

He  watched  them  till  they  were  gone,  swallowed  up  in  the 
soft  darkness,  and  then  he  moved,  he  turned  slowly  towards 
the  house.  The  vigil  was  over,  but  he  frowned  in  thought. 
How  should  Kathleen  know,  how  could  she  be  made  aware  of 
this?  And  then — he  heard  a  sound,  the  soft  pad  of  a  foot 
behind  him  and  had  no  time  to  turn  for  even  as  he  would 
have  swung  round,  something  leaped  upon  him  and  clung  to 
him.  A  hand  gifted  with  a  curious  strength  sought  for  and 
found  his  throat,  and  finding  it  gripped  and  gripped. 

He  fought,  struggling  madly,  he  tried  to  tear  away  that 
terrible  hold,  yet  it  was  like  trying  to  unbend  bars  of  steel. 
He  fought  at  those  gripping,  clinging  fingers  till  his  brain 
grew  dazed,  till  the  dark  night  swam  about  him.  He  could 
feel  on  his  neck  the  hot  quick  breathing  of  his  enemy. 

A  hoarse  scream,  a  shriek  that  ended  in  a  choking,  gasp- 
ing sob  broke  from  the  strangling  throat,  a  scream  of  agony 
and  of  terror.  For  he,  brave  man  though  he  was,  felt  a  mad, 
horrible  fear  of  the  silent,  the  unseen  thing  that  was  seeking 
to  rob  him  of  his  life. 

Kathleen  threw  up  her  head.  "Allan,  Allan  darling,  did 
you  hear  ?  Hush,  listen,  what  was  that  ?" 

"Only  a  screech  owl  beloved,  and  oh  my  Kathleen,  to  hear 

you  call  me -"  he  paused  and  was  silent,  for  there  came  a 

repetition  of  the  sound,  but  this  time  fainter,  the  strangling 
cry  of  a  man  in  agony,  hoarse  despairing,  spent  and  gasping, 
ending  in  sudden  silence,  followed  by  the  sound  of  a  fall. 


THE  GOING  OF  BETTY  301 

"Kathleen  go,  run  to  the  house,  there  is  something  wrong — 
send  help!"  And  then  he  turned  and  dashed  into  the  dark- 
ness, in  the  direction  whence  came  the  sound.  Scarsdale 
was  down,  he  lay  face  downward  on  the  stone  paving  and  with 
his  last  strength,  his  last  effort  was  seeking  to  unlock  those 
fingers  from  his  throat,  but  his  movements  were  weakening, 
the  man  was  done,  as  near  to  death  as  a  man  can  be  and  yet 
still  live,  and  on  his  back  there  crouched  a  figure,  the  figure  of 
a  small  mean  man,  whose  wondrous  strength  was  all  con- 
tained in  those  hooked  fingers  that  were  choking  the  life  out 
of  the  jerking,  labouring  body. 

"Pleasant  spoken  'ee  be — aye  wonderful  pleasant  spoken 
'ee  du  be!"  The  creature  was  chuckling,  was  laughing,  his 
eyes  seemed  to  burn  with  strange  fires. 

"Wonderful  pleasant  spoken  'ee  be — but  never  again,  never 
again  will  'ee  cheat  a  man  of  his  maid,  never  again !  Stole 
her  from  me,  lied  her  away  from  me ! — Oh  wonderful  pleas- 
ant spoken  'ee  be " 

It  was  death  that  was  come  on  him  now,  and  he  knew  it, 
the  death  he  had  defied — for  so  long — in  savage  places. 
Strange  that  it  should  come  to  him  here  at  last  in  this  peace- 
ful old  garden.  Death — the  world  was  swimming  about  him 
— he  seemed  to  see  Kathleen's  face,  the  fighting  hands  were 
grown  powerless  and  never  for  a  moment  did  that  grip  on 
his  throat  relax. 

"Oh  wonderful,  powerful  pleasant  spoken  'ee  be " 

chuckled  the  voice. 

And  then  the  man  was  torn  from  his  victim,  dragged  from 
him  and  flung  violently  to  the  stone  pavement.  Kathleen  had 
run  screaming  to  the  house>  the  servants  were  alarmed,  How- 
ard, prompt  and  efficient,  came  hurrying  with  lighted  lamp ; 
others  /ollowed,  Kathleen  with  them. 

"It's  Scarsdale — been  attacked — he's  fainted — lift  him, 
some  of  you,  carry  him  in — stop  that  man,  stop  him!" 

For  Abram  Lestwick  had  risen,  he  stood  there  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  turned  to  fly,  but  suddenly  stood  still,  as  the  lamp- 


302      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

light  shone  for  a  moment  on  Allan's  face.  Lestwick  peered 
at  him.  His  hands  rose  to  his  own  throat,  fumbled  with  it, 
tore  at  his  collar  till  they  tore  it  loose. 

"Bless  I  if  it  hain't  Abram  Lestwick !"  said  a  voice,  the 
voice  belonged  to  old  Markabee,  "Abram  Lestwick  it  du  be !" 

"Aye,  it  be  me !"  Lestwick  said,  he  spoke  dully,  still 
fumbling  at  his  throat,  his  eyes  wandered  from  the  figure  of 
the  man  they  were  lifting,  to  Allan's  face  clear  in  the  lamp- 
light, eyes  from  which  all  the  fire  and  passion  had  died  out. 

He  had  made  a  mistake,  his  slow  brain  was  grasping  the 
fact — a  mistake — why  should  he  have  made  a  mistake? 
Surely  it  had  been  the  right  man,  had  he  not  climbed  the 
wall  and  waited  and  seen  a  man  with  a  woman  and  that  wo- 
man Betty — who  else  could  it  have  been  ?  And  then — then — 

"A  terribul  strong  intentioned  man  I  be!"  Abram  mut- 
tered. "Terribul  passionate  and  quick "  His  eyes  roved 

round  restlessly,  he  still  worked  at  his  frayed  and  torn  col- 
lar. "I  must  be  going,  time  be  getting  on,  very  late  it  be 
growing,  I've  stayed  too  long !"  He  would  have  turned,  but 
old  Markabee  faced  him  resolutely. 

"Stir  from  here,  'ee  don't,  Abram  Lestwick,  after  what  'ee 
Lev  done!" 

One  sweep  of  his  arm  would  have  felled  Markabee  and  left 
the  way  clear  for  him  to  depart,  yet  Abram  Lestwick  never 
thought  of  that— he  stood  still,  silent,  submissive. 

His  dull  brain  refused  to  answer  the  question  that  he  would 
have  put  to  it.  A  mistake — how  had  he  come  to  make  a  mis- 
take— another  man — what  other  man  could  it  be?  Had  he 
not  seen  his  enemy  standing  erect,  unhurt,  the  lamplight  on 
his  face  ? 

"It  be  past,  all  past  my  understanding "  Abram  Lest- 
wick muttered.  "All  misty  and  dizzy  it  du  seem  to  I — 
all  misty  and  dizzy !" 

They  had  carried  the  victim  into  the  house,  now  they  came 
back  for  Lestwick,  they  took  him  and  bound  his  hands  be- 


THE  GOING  OF  BETTY  303 

hind  his  back,  those  terrible,  those  death  dealing  hands,  and 
he  submitted  without  a  word,  without  a  struggla 

Sullenly  and  with  bent  head,  he  shambled  along  between 
his  captors.  They  took  him  into  the  house,  into  the  light, 
he  stood  with  bent  head,  then  slowly  lifted  it,  his  restless  eyes 
roamed  the  room,  they  fell  on  Kathleen's  white  face  for  a 
moment,  then  strayed  away  again. 

The  man.  was  muttering  to  himself,  they  bent  near  to  listen, 
yet  could  make  but  little  of  it. 

"Wonderful  pleasant  spoken  he  be "  he  said,  and  said 

it  again  and  yet  again,  a  score  of  times. 

Old  Markabee,  tremulous,  but  staunch,  gripping  a  Dutch 
hoe,  stood  on  guard.  "I  du  remember,"  he  said,  "aye  I  du 
remember  his  mother,  my  Lady,  and  it  be  the  same  wi'  Abram 
as  it  were  wi'  she — strange  she  were  always,  terribul  strange 
and  they  du  say  aye  I  have  heard  it  said  as  her  did  die  in 
the  madhouse!" 

Kathleen  drew  back,  but  the  horror  died  out  of  her  face 
and  in  its  place  there  came  pity,  a  great  pity  for  this  stricken 
wretch,  the  dull  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on  her  face,  then 
sank  to  the  ground,  his  fingers  were  picking  at  the  rope  that 
bound  his  wrists  together,  but  not  with  any  intention  of  pick- 
ing himself  free,  just  for  the  cake  of  picking  and  fraying  and 
tearing  the  cords,  that  was  all 


J 


>'. 

f 


«.       * 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

"i  SHALL,  EETFBN" 

KATHLEEN— Kathleen " 
"Yes,  Harold,  here  beside  you."     She  touched  his 
cheek  with  her  fingers.    "You  are  easier  now,  better  ?" 

"With  you  beside  me,  yes."  He  lifted  his  hand  slowly  to 
the  bandaged  throat. 

"It  was — Homewood — Allan  Homewood  who — saved — 
who  dragged  that  man  off  me  ?" 

"Yes,  it  was  Allan,  we  heard  your  cry  for  help,  he  and  I, 
we  were  together  in  the  garden  and " 

"You — you  and  he — you  and  he  in  the  garden  t" 

"We  had  been  talking  in  the  yew  walk,  we  were  returning 
to  the  house  and  then  we  heard " 

He  said  nothing,  his  face  twisted  a  little,  as  with  pain, 
then  it  passed. 

"The  man,  Abram  Lestwick  was  mad,  quite  mad,  Harold. 
He  made  no  effort  to  get  away,  he  was  dodile  and  quiet,  dazed 
and  stupid.  They  took  him  before  the  magistrates  the  next 
day,  but  the  doctors  certified  at  once,  he  will  not  have  his 
liberty  again,  poor  creature,  they  say  he  is  a  homicidal 
maniac.  Yet  why — why  should  he  have  come  creeping  into 
the  garden  that  night,  why  should  he  have  attacked  you, 
Harold,  you  a  stranger  to  him  ?" 

But  it  seemed  that  he  was  not  listening,  as  though  what 
she  said  had  no  interest  for  him.  He  lay  looking  at  her, 
thinking — It  was  she — she  in  the  garden  with  Homewood 
that  night,  she  walking  with  Homewood,  his  arm  about  her. 

He  saw  it  all  again,  in  memory,  as  he  had  seen  it  that  night 
in  reality,  the  man  and  the  woman  walking  as  lovers  walk, 

304 


"I  SHALL  RETURN"  305 

the  man's  arm  about  the  woman,  her  head  against  his  shoulder 
— and  it  was  Homewood  and  Kathleen,  the  husband  and  the 
wife — and  he  had  thought — 

"The  doctor  tells  me  that  I  shall  mend  soon,  that  I  shall 
soon  be  my  own  man  again,  Kathleen,  and  then,"  he  smiled, 
"then  I  shall  go  back." 

"Need  you?" 

He  did  not  answer  the  question.  "You  know  why  I  came, 
what  hopes  I  had.  It  was  folly  and  the  hopes  are  over  and 
ended  and  dead — so  I  shall  go  back  alone  as  I  came.  There 
is  nothing  to  remain  for — nothing."  His  hand  sought  hers 
and  she  put  hers  into  it.  He  held  it  for  a  time  and  then  let 
it  go. 

"So  I  shall  go  back,"  he  said  again,  and  said  it  quietly 
and  with  a  fixity  of  purpose  that  she  knew  would  never  be 
changed. 

Her  eyes,  filled  with  pity,  looked  down  on  him.  Yet  she 
knew,  better  that  he  went  back,  better  that  in  the  years  to 
come  they  should  never  meet  again. 

Her  heart  ached  for  him,  but  not  for  herself.  And  then 
the  door  opened  and  Allan  came  softly  to  the  bedside  and 
looked  down  at  the  invalid  and  standing  beside  Kathleen 
his  arm  went  round  her  and  he  never  knew  what  suffering 
it  meant  to  the  man  lying  there. 

"Kathleen  has  told  you  about  Lestwick,  Scarsdale?  The 
poor  wretch  is  hopelessly  insane.  There  was  no  reason  for 
his  act,  there  could  be  none.  It  has  all  been  horrible,  you 
can  imagine  what  our  feelings  have  been  that  you,  our 

guest,  our  friend "  very  kind  was  Allan's  smile  as  he 

looked  down  on  the  man  who  would  have  been  his  enemy, 
"should  have  to  bear  this.  But  thank  God  it  is  no  worse  than 
it  is.  You  will  be  a  well  man  again  soon,  Scarsdale,  and  then 
you  will  stay  on  and  rest  here,  Kathleen  will  be  your 
nurse " 

"You  are  good,  but  I  shall  leave  you  as  soon  as  I  may, 


306      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

for  I  am  going  back  to  the  place  I  came  from,  Homewood, 
going  back  soon." 

"Going  back?  I  remember  that  you  told  me  once  you 
hoped " 

Scarsdale  smiled  faintly.  "I  hoped — but  that  is  over,  I 
had  hope,  but  not  now.  There  is  nothing  to  hold  me  to 
England.  I  am  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  I  shall  be  better 
out  there  among  the  people  who  know  me." 

"Are  you  sure — sure  that  there  is  no  hope  for  you,  Scars- 
dale?" 

Again  Scarsdale  smiled.     "There  never  was,"  he  said. 

"Yet  I  did  not  realise  it,  would  not  understand  it — but 
«  ' 

there  was  never  any  hope  for  me,  so — so  I  shall  go,  thanking 
my  good  friends  for  their  care  of  me,  thanking  them  and 

blessing  them "  As  he  spoke  he  looked  up  at  Kathleen 

and  Allan  watching  saw  the  yearning,  the  hunger,  the  love 
that  the  lips  could  not  utter,  and  then  suddenly  he  under- 
stood that  this  was  the  man! 

Yet,  even  understanding,  he  stooped  and  touched  the 
other's  hand. 

"Remember,  if  you  will  stay,  my  wife  and  I  will  be  glad — 
we  would  have  you  stay  as  long  as  you  can — Scarsdale." 

They  turned  away,  went  out  of  the  room  together,  and  then 
when  the  door  had  closed  on  them,  he  turned  to  her. 

"Kathleen,  I  remember  that  night  you  told  me  that  you 
had  met  the  man  again — it  was  he." 

"He  came  back,"  she  said,  "he  came  back  and  I  knew  it 
meant  nothing  to  me.  It  was  a  dream,  as  yours  was  dear, 

and  it  passed,  as  yours  did,  my  Allan  and  so — so "  she 

held  up  her  arms  and  put  them  about  his  neck  and  lifted  her 
face  to  his. 

"I  meant  to  tell  you — at  first  and  then — then  I  forgot,  yes 
forgot,  Allan — because  of  something  of  which  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  far,  far  more." 

"I  know,"  he  said,  he  put  big  arms  about  her  and  held  her 


"I  SHALL  RETURN"  307 

closely.     "Something  that  has  made  me  the  happiest  and 
proudest  man  in  all  the  world,  beloved." 


A  winter  and  a  spring  had  passed  and  the  garden  at 
Homewood  was  blooming  with  a  loveliness  that  it  had  not 
been  able  to  attain  last  summer.  Old  Markabee,  bearing  the 
weight  of  yet  one  more  year  on  his  round  shoulders,  was  snip- 
ping at  the  ivy  covered  wall. 

"A  pernicious  thing  be  ivy,  sir,"  he  said,  "a  terribul  per- 
nicious thing,  eating  away  the  very  wall  as  du  support  it, 
tearing  it  away  bit  by  bit,  ruining  it,  sir,  it  du — with  them 
terribul  little  clinging  fingers  it  hev  got,  workin*  and  workin' 
till  the  old  wall  be  crumbled  quite  and  ready  to  fall,  a  most 
terribul  pernicious  thing  ivy  be." 

"Yes,  yes  to  be  sure,  but  hush  my  good  man,  not — not  so 
loudly  if  you  please " 

Markabee  turned  contritely,  "I  bain't  gone  and  woke  he 
wi'  my  chatter  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,  no,  he  is  still  sound  asleep." 

Sir  Josiah  rose  from  the  stone  bench,  he  peered  under 
the  holland  awning  over  the  perambulator. 

His  reign  was  but  short  and  presently  nurse  would  come 
and  demand  of  him,  her  charge.  It  was  a  great  favour  that 
she  did  him,  leaving  him  here  in  charge  of  the  slumbering  in- 
fant, there  was  no  one  else  nurse  would  trust,  but  she  knew 
that  she  might  Sir  Josiah. 

"You  may  look  at  him,  Markabee,  if  you  like,  did  you  ever 
see  a  healthier  looking  child?" 

Markabee  poked  his  brown  face  under  the  awning,  holding 
his  breath  the  while.  Not  till  he  was  safely  away  did  he  trust 
himself  with  speech. 

"A  wunnerful  child  he  be,"  he  said.  "And  so  powerful 
strong  he  du  look." 


308      THE  GARDEN  OF  MEMORIES 

"Would  you  say,  Markabee?"  Sir  Josiah  enquired 
anxiously,  "is  the  child  like  his  mother  or  his  father  ?" 

"A  bit  like  both,"  said  Markabee.  "And  wi'  a  look,  aye 
now  I  du  see  it  quite  plain,  a  look  of  his  grandfather  tu,  he 
hev  got." 

"You  don't  say  so !"  said  Sir  Josiah.  "You  don't  say  so — 
well  bless  my  heart!"  His  round  red  face  beamed  and 
Markabee,  cunning  old  sinner,  chuckled  behind  his  hand. 

"That  ought  to  be  good  enough  for  half  a  suvereign  for  I," 
he  thought. 

And  now  came  nurse  to  take  possession  of  her  charge. 

"He  hasn't  awakened,  Sir  Josiah,  has  he  ?"  she  said. 

"Bless  you  my  dear,  no,  not  moved,  he  hasn't,"  Sir  Josiah 
said. 

She  smiled.  "I  always  feel  I  can  trust  you  with  him  at 
any  rate,  Sir  Josiah." 

"A  good  woman  that,  a  sensible  woman,  couldn't  have 
found  a  better,"  Sir  Josiah  said  as  nurse  wheeled  the  baby 
carriage  away.  "And  you  were  saying  just  now,  Marka- 
bee?" 

"I  were  saying  a  terribul  pernicious  thing  is  this  ivy 
working  with  its  little  fingers  on  they  old  walls  as  du  support 
it,  tearing  and  tearing,  wonderful  like  the  fingers  of  Abram 
Xestwick's,  I  du  remember." 

"Ah.  poor  fellow!"  said  Sir  Josiah. 

"Mad !"  said  Markabee,  "like  his  mother  were  afore  him — 
mad — and  mad  in  love  moreover." 

"Indeed!" 

"Wi'  the  prettiest  maid  in  these  parts,  old  Mother  Hanson's 
grand-darter,  sir." 

"Little  Betty  Hanson?"  said  Sir  Josiah — "whom  my 
daughter-in-law  Lady  Kathleen  sent  to  me  months  and  months 
ago,  and  to  think  that  poor  mad  fellow  loved  her.  But  she's 
married  now,  Markabee,  and  married  well — married  to  a 
young  fellow  who  works  for  me,  a  lad  named  Cope!  I'm 
paying  him  six  pounds  a  week,  Markabee,  and  he's  worth  it,  a 


"I  SHALL  RETURN"  309 

Hard  working  honest  lad.  I  had  tea  with  them  in  their 
little  house  and  a  prettier  little  hostess  you  never  saw.  But 
if  you'll  believe  me,  Markabee,  an  arrant  little  flirt,  with 
those  pretty  eyes  of  hers " 

"Her  mother  were  the  same,"  said  Markabee.  "All  wim- 
men  more  or  less  be  the  same — specially  when  they  du  have 
fine  eyes  as  Betty  had." 

"Why  I  don't  know  that  you  aren't  right  Markabee,  and 
yet  not  all,  not  all  women  Markabee,  there  is  one " 

Sir  Josiah  looked  up  and  saw  the  one  of  whom  he  spoke. 
She  was  coming  slowly  towards  them  along  the  flagged  path- 
way, her  husband's  arm  about  her,  her  head  against  hiai 
shoulder  and  as  they  came  slowly  in  the  sunshine,  they 
halted  now  and  again,  for  not  yet,  had  all  her  strength  come 
back  to  her,  though  thank  God,  it  was  coming.  She  was  still 
a  little  pale,  still  a  little  languid  in  her  movements.  But  in 
her  eyes  there  was  a  great  and  wonderful  happiness  and  a 
deep  tenderness  and  unutterable  love.  Love  for  this  man  be- 
side her,  this  man  to  whom  she  clung,  this  man,  who  was 
friend,  lover,  husband  all  in  one.  Was  ever  woman  so  blessed 
as  she? 

Sir  Josiah  stood  watching  them,  knowing  that  these  two 
had  found  a  happiness  that  was  almost  beyond  his  under- 
standing. 

And  then  he  would  have  turned  and  gone  quietly  away, 
but  Kathleen  called  to  him. 

"Won't  you  come  here  and  sit  with  us  in  the  sunshine 
dear  ?  Don't  go,  don't  go !" 

He  came  back  with  a  happy  pleased  look  on  his  old  face. 

"I  didn't  think  you  and  Allan  would  want  the  old  man," 
he  said,  "I  thought  you  two — together " 

"We  want  you  always,  when  you  are  here  our  little  world 
is  all  complete,"  she  said  softly.  "I  have  those  whom  I  love 
and  those  who  love  me,"  she  lifted  her  hand  and  held  it 
against  his  cheek. 

And  so  on  the  sunwarmed  old  stone  bench  they  sat,  and 


310 

there  was  no  sound  save  the  steady  'clip  clip'  of  old  Marka- 
bee's  shears  and  the  rustle  of  the  falling  glossy  green  leaves 
from  the  ivied  wall. 

About  them  was  the  sunshine  and  the  glory  of  the  flowers 
in  bloom,  the  little  pool  lay  shimmering  like  molten  gold, 
and  from  its  midst  rose  the  slim  white  figure  of  the  stone 
maiden,  for  ever  holding  the  broken  pitcher  on  her  sun  kissed 
shoulder. 


THE  END 


A     000  135  133     7 


